■ ■ 




THE MATCHMAKERS 



A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 

FOUNDED ON THACKARY'S NOVEL OF 
THE NEWCOMES 



BY 



CHARLES A. SCOTT 



HOUSTON, TEXAS 
July. 1904 



THE MATCHMAKERS 



A DRAMA IN FIVE ACTS 

FOUNDED ON THACKARY'S NOVEL OF 
THE NEWCOMES 



BY 



CHARLES A. SCOTT 



it 



HOUSTON, TEXAS 
July, 1904 



^°>*V^ 






CO 
Two Cooias Received \ 

fright Entry 

lev" 




Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1904, 

By Charles A. Scott, 

in the office of the Librarian of Congress, Washington, D. C. 






Co 



s 

a 





& OAST OF CHARACTERS. 



Col. Thos Newcome, Bengal Cavalry, C. B., East India Company 
11 service, age 66 

Clive Newcome, artist, son of above, age 23 to 25 

Barnes Kewcome, banker and afterwards baronet, age same 

Frank, Earl of Kew, betrothed to Ethel Newcome, age same 

Sir Brian Newcome, father of Barnes and Ethel Newcome, age 64 
years, M. P 

Hobson Newcome, banker and brother of the above, age 60 years. . 

Son. Charles Belsize, best known as Jack, afterwards as Lord High- 
gate, age 26 years .v . 

Marquis de Farintosh, suitor for hand of Ethel Newcome, age 25 . 

Mr. Arthur Pendennio, friend of Col. T. Newcome and son, age 30. 

Capt. Goby 

Little Tommykin boy, son of Clive Newcorae, small boy 

Little Alfred Newcome, son of Sir Brian, age 8 years 

Dowager Countess of Kew, a veteran matchmaker, grandmother of 
Ethel, age 83 

Ethel Newcome, daughter of Sir Brian, age 20 to 23 years 

Lady Ann Newcome, wife of Sir Brian and daughter of Dowager 
Countess, 44 years 

Lady Maria Walham, mother of Earl of Kew, 48 years 

Lady Julia Kew, daughter- and secretary to Dowager Countess, 38 
years 

Mrs. Maria Kewcome, wife of Hobson, age 50 years 

Mrs. Mackenzie, a Termagant and widow of an army officer, age 
35 to 40 

Rosa Mackenzie, petite and artless wife of Clive JSTewcome, age 20 
to 23 years 

Mrs. Laura Pendennis, friend and confidante of Ethel, age 24 years. 

Friars, Children and Servants. 

Period 1850. Costumes modern, except gowns, cassocks and sur- 

nlices. 



SYNOPSIS. 



ACT I. 



SCENE 1. — At the home of the chief matchmaker, she pursues 
the sway and activity of her role; she keeps her latest captures 
in hand by obtaining the key to their movements and charac- 
ter; hence the invitation to sip tea with two old ladies, and to 
give an account of themselves. 

SCENE 2. — The family council of the Neivcomes at Park Lane, 
London. The presumption of unknown people in giving or 
attempting to entertain society, and sUll Barnes danced with 
the young lady and she was pleased with his attentions ; what 
a pity he was already matched. Barnes is reproved by his 
father for sneering remarks about the Colonel and his son. 
Dispute as to the relationship of an obscure Newcome, who 
is visited by the Colonel. Alarmfaig reports of the spread of 
radical doctrines. Why was not Vidier and family invited to 
the Newcome annual assembly? Barnes accused of throwing 
out the invitation. Poor relations are too numerous; the true 
relation of one poor relation stated and suggestions for her 
relief. Alfred betrays a secret, which is indignantly denied, 
and the child sent to bed. Mrs. Hobson Newcome objects to 
the Colonel's patronage of her offspring, for which the Colonel 
denies their value, and admits the rights of parents to regulate 
their own affairs. Hobson Newcome wants to cut out and go 
home. The Dowager has a dim memory of Clive, and wants 
to know who he is; on further inspection finds him good look- 
ing. Hobson Newcome enters and is dissatisfied that Clive has 
chosen the profession of painter. 

S'CENE 3. — The social assembly and reception at Fitzroy Square; 
onerous exacting duties of parliament. Mrs. Mackenzie ac- 
complishes the first. move in her project of matchmaking a,nd 
the designs of both lady and daughter are penetrated. Seraphic 
music. Hobson's excessive fatigue. The presentation and leave- 
taking. The conduct of the Dowager designating the particu- 
lars of the governor's ball as an old chestnut; dispute as an old 
character. The toll that was levied and collected. 



ACT III] 



SYNOPSIS 



ACT II. 

SCENE 1. — Arrival of Dowager Countess of Kern at Baden, who 
accuses Ethel of more interest in painters than pictures, criti- 
cizes the art and explains why little green tickets are placed 
upon them. Ethel places, a green ticket on her dress to signify 
her sale to a customer and announces herself as Exhibit No. 46. 
The Dowager, furiously incensed, assails her and tears the 
ticket from her bosom and bear? off the trophy to her room 
in high dudgeon. On the entrance of her brother Barnes she 
relates the affair to him, and he delivers his opinion of the 
controversy, which agrees with the argument of his, grand- 
mother. Finding some drawings Clive had made for the di- 
version of the children, he concludes that Clive is in the vi- 
cinity, and reports the fact to his father. He then resigns 
himself to the perusal of the fashionable intelligence of his 
newspapers, which mention the events to happen at Baden, 
when he is visited by his parents and informed of the ar- 
rangements for his wedding are complete. Also, that the bride- 
elect, Lady Clara Pullyn, while out strolling with her father, 
suddenly met Mr. Belsize, and the lady swooned away and 
lay on the ground for some time in an unconscious condition. 
To avoid scandal Barnes attributed the swoon to epilepsy 
and asserted had he been present he would have murdered the 
scoundrel, which, reaching the ears of Lord Kew, Belsize's most 
intimate friend, knowing Barnes' character well, played upon 
Barnes, and made him believe that Belsize was laying in wait 
with a big club in an adjoining wood with the avowed inten- 
tion of taking his life. Clive called him a snob and chal- 
lenged him to resent it, but Barnes declined the duel, as ex- 
pected he would, and made a laughing stock of himself. Clive 
was summoned to the presence of her Ladyship of Kew and 
was told it was time he had taken his departure. The parting 
caused much grief. He was evidently in the way and she de- 
et him out of reach 



get mm out of reacn. 




J t* r / **! ■•+ 




SCENE 1. — The visit of Marquis de Farinstosh demonstrated the 
frivolous nature of his character and lack of ability, or, rather, 
he displayed it himself. After his retirement Lady Kew ar- 
rived from Kehl and reported the failure of her mission, and 



J-e^te-t ^ 














uX^rAc** 





fytfWT 



istiJji^rirt-Q* 1 . was sur p r i se d f learn how she had caused the humiliation of 
^Uhel. The madam complains she has received out little com- 
ort from her offspring. Implores Ethel to remain loyal to 
er in her old age, notwithstanding all the wrong she unin- 
'.tenMonally had done her, which was. due to the love and af- 
fection she had borne for her family, and after working upon 
£^0*tf 2- ^f^L3^ ^ er 9 enerous nature, desired to know Lady Ann's opinion of 
^^r z — "II ms-M ^fltjW^ explanations of Lord Kew, written her, and when in- 
/fc€$Cf*ji~f^f*^'' formed that Lady Ann had not been shown the letter she 
' "coaxingly asked to read it, and was informed that it was 
Iready burned to ashes. This display of incredible hypocrisy 
ay seem unreal if true. 

S C E NI j^ — -Th e meeting of Clive and Ethel at their Aunt Honey - 
^ff'Jmanjrhack parlor at Brighton was due to the necessity for an 
/&? t at*~&' t^^*^- explanation of their intercourse and adoption of prudent 
t£^dz<?], &***? admeasures to regulate and control the interview. The meas- 
<L ,/ ures were adopted to the satisfaction of both the parties to 
*£***/ observe them. ,+- 

— a<Z> *f- — v_ 
SCENE £. — The good natured Colonel perhaps weaned the girl's 
affections from her husband by too much devotion and atten- 
tion to the whims of the wife, and without intention caused 
a jealousy to spring up in Clive's bosom. The nature of these 
attentions are detailed in the course of the play. 

SCENE %^-The meeting of the son and father in this scene at 
the hotel in Neiucome, a suburb of London, during a political 
campaign, is to show the utter hopelessness of a passion once 
conceived and returned, which will linger as long as life lasts, 
and, do vjhat we may, it is impossible to eradicate it. Also, 
that a generous nature is susceptible to a generous forgive- 
ness and that, fortunate for humanity, there are but few 
created whose hearts are not imbued with compassion and 
mercy. 

SmNE2^^oteUlewcojn^. 

SCENE 3. — H\ow often, and oh how often, are kind-hearted men 
urged into bankruptcy and surrender more assets than the 
law justifies, but it is the common experience that they ob- 
tain no credit for their action. If mankind were as suspicious 
as Mrs. Mackenzie they would find no repose. 



t 



SYNOPSIS VII 

ACT V. 

SCENE 1. — In this scene we meet the representatives of true no- 
bility, one who still cherishes her early affections for a hind- 
hearted, pure old man without guile, and holds his son in 
the paternal affection that exists, most in an enduring unity. 
We can understand the regard of the old dowager, but, after 
all, it was. a selfish aspiration to aid and help only her blood 
relatives. Some of them may have been as worthy as her 
noble grandson, who sacrificed his interests rather than perpe- 
trate a wrong, but there were other true men in the world — <■ 
not blood relations — who merited her pity more than did her 
noble offspring. Perhaps she may have fancied them as 
eternally singing psalms with the parson s daughter. But it 
is the deed of these two ladies, and we invite attention to 
the scene that depicts their unselfishness ; it was meet that, 
holding the same views, they should come together. One al- 
ready realized the fruits of mutual love; the hopes of the 
other may be ultimately attained. -* 

SCENE 2. — Here we have a picture of the family of Clive in the 
dwelling they occupy on Howland street, which is most like 
those whose income is very limited. It is. easy to perceive 
that the gray mare is the stallion of the stable. Can it be pos- 
sible that an angel has visited the place and, no matter how 
unwelcome her errand of mercy, she ivas not to be deterred 
from its accomplishment? A happy Christmas and a joyous 
New Year is often the result of such a visit. 

SCENE 2. — Grayfriars Hospital may be one of the many institu- 
tions that dispenses a noble charity. When we remember that 
it was at this hospital that Colonel Thomas Newcome sought 
and found refuge from his sorrows, exultingly we are in- 
clined to exclaim adzem at the final roll call. 

TABLEAU VIVANT. 

Only sliadoivs, what is supposed to happen at a subsequent 
period, and who in the ivorld could ever suppose any other ending 
than the one indicated? 



SOENA.RIO. 



ACT I. 

SCENE 1.— Residence of Countess of Kew at Brighton, 2 parlor. 

Lmdo~n~ GOUnCil ° f NeWCOme famil y ™>wry> 2 °f Parl * Lane at 

SCENE 3~Social assembly, arch at 3; interior drop at 5 show- 
ing divided room. Fitzroy Square, London. 

ACT II. 

SCENE 1.— Parlor hotel at Baden, gothic c d at 3, open for en- 
trance of Sir Brian and Lady Ann. Closed after Ethel and 
children exit, shows hall and stairway lacked by interior drop. 

SCENE 2.~Plain chamber hotel at Kehl 4. Bedding and bolster 
bed. Room l leads into empty cupboard. Door r locked on in- 
side. 

ACT III. 

SCENE l.-.Drawing room 4, Mansion Park Lane, London. For 
visit of Lord Farintosh. 

SCENE 2.— Back parlor 2 at Aunt Honeyman's. Meeting of Ethel 
and Chve. • 

ACT IV. 

SCENE l.—Tybumia- Mansion 4. Reception room. Remedy for un- 
requited love. 

SCENE 2 — Plain chamber, e and l doors. Hotel at Newcome 
suburb of London. Father and son meet. 

SCENE 3— Tyburma Mansion. Drawing room 4. Bundlecund 
Bank failure. 

ACT V. 

SCENE 1.— Country seat of Sir Barnes Newcome at Newcome 2. 
Discovery of the will. 

SCENE 2.— Dwelling of Clive Newcome, Rowland street, Lon- 
don. Domesticity. Mrs. Mackenzie's last victory. 

SCENE 13.— Grey friars Hospital 5. Set chapel 3. Interior drop 5 
with view of hospital. Organ to play when procession is mov- 
ing. 

TABLEAU VIVANT. 
TABLEAU.— Bride, Ethel. Groom, Clive Newcome. 



I 



The Matchmakers. 






SCENE 1. — Act I. Parlor 3. Residence Dowager Countess of Kew 
at Brighton. Cottage furniture. Table c with writing ma- 
terials. Easy Chair for Lady Kew. Lady Julia and Countess 
of Kew discovered at c table. 

Lady K. Why did not Ann take the child elsewhere than 
Brighton? Don't she know I have not had the measles, Julia? 
You must on no account go near the pestiferous swarm of little 
Newcomes, unless you want to send me out of the world, which, 
I dare say, you do. Supposing I do see the doctor every day, that 
does not keep away the smallpox and kindred diseases. He mere- 
ly comes to cure me of numerous complaints; to tell me the cur- 
rent news and gossip; to feel my pulse, and have me put out 
my tongue; to write me a prescription in Latin for bread pills, 
and to collect a fee for no service. You may send a servant every 
day to Ann's boarding house to inquire how Alfred is, but he 
must not enter their house, and must remain on the outside until 
he is told how the little lad is. If he disobeys these instructions 
he need not darken my doors again. 

Lady Julia. Lord Kew has been to see his sick cousin, and 
brought the patient a lot of pictures and toys, much to the delight 
of the boy. 

Lady Kew. Just like Frank. He first calls on sick cousins and 
then spreads their contagion among his relatives, and never comes 
at once near his grandmother. It is certain that none of us have 
laid eyes on him. Write him a note, Julia, and tell him to come 
instantly. 

Lady Julia. The morning paper publishes the arrival of Lord 
Kew and Hon. CLarles Belsize. 

Lady K. Then I'm sure they are here for some mischief ; those 
two never get together but what they plan wickedness. Ah, I re- 
member now, the doctor, who only left here a short while ago, 
said that he saw my Lord Kew and Mme. Pozzo-Profundo out 
driving in a phaeton. She, you know, is the famous contralto of 
the Italian opera. Julia, write as I shall dictate : Gentlemen 
who travel incog, and when they reach a watering resort and en- 
deavor to keep their visit a secret from their relatives, had better 
go to places where newspapers are not published. In Brighton their 



10 THE MATCHMAKERS [ ACT r 

names and other particulars are published, and meet the eye of 
their relatives. If you are not drowned in a pozzo-profundo, you 
will take tea with two old ladies, who extend the invitation and 
; /ill be glad to meet you. Yours, etc., Dowager Countess of Kew. 
{Kings, and footman answers summons; Lady Kew reads and in- 
closes message.) Yes, that is sufficient; now take and deliver this 
message to the person named in the address. (Servant rung for 
receives the letter.) yi 

(Enter another servant and announces my Lord Kew and Ron. C. 
Belsize, who enter r.) 

Lady Kew Speak of his satanic majesty, the imps appear. 

Kew Why, my dear grandmother, you appear as youthful and 
as good natured as ever . (Imprints a kiss on the forehead of his 
relative and Belsize lows.) 

Lady Kew I have just sent an invitation for you to call and 
drmk a cup of tea with us, and you must have met the messenger 
oeiore he was fairly on his way to your hotel. 

Kew. Allow me, dear grandmother, to present my friend and 

cSTir Charles Belsize - {A bow and curtse y inter - 

Lady Kew Never mind my looks, you truant! Where have 
you been.' 3 Give an account of yourself. 

Kew I have had a delightful time, with our cousins of the 
house of JNewcome. 

Lady K. Certainly not with Barnes the eldest, unless he has 
changed his spots. 

Kew. No, confound him. 

• BeI i ke \ .®°> dmn Barnes - I ask your pardon, ladies. But Barnes 
is such a little snob no one likes him. 

Lady Kew. A little what, Mr. Belsize ? 

Belsize. A little snob, ma'am. He may be your grandson, 
ma am, but I could find no other term to more fitly describe him 

Lady Kew. Thank you, Mr. Belsize. 

Belsize. But the rest of the family are capital, including the 
little boy D ust well of the measles, who is a brick, and for Miss 
Ethel — 

Kew. Ethel is a trump. (Slapping his knee ) 
Lady Kew. Ethel a trump, Alfred a brick and Barnes a snob, 
lhis is satisfactory to know. 

Kew We met the whole posse. I told them to pile in, which 
they did. Alfred, the little cuss, wanted to drive, but I would not 
let him. Miss Ethel found a seat. Miss Ethel is the most lovely 
girl m England. They all found seats and Jack rode behind 



I 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKERS 11 

Lady Keiv. Where Monsieur Pozzo-Profundo sits "Bon." 

Kew. We drove down on to the downs, and were near coming 
to grief. My horses are young and quite wild, and when they 
reach grass sod behave as if they were mad. 

Belsize. It was rash, Frank. He came very near breaking all 
our necks. 

Keiv. Which would make my brother Lord Kew. What a narrow 
escape it was for him. The horses ran away for some miles. All 
that were in the carriage were terribly frightened ; the pluck of the 
poor little boy deserted him; he could not have been more pale 
had he been daubed with a whitewash brush. Then he began to 
cry, yell and scream, as if his life depended on the noise he made. 
His sister was as white as a sheet, but she remained self-possessed 
and kept her place like a man. After we had sped for some miles 
I succeeded in reining in the animals and drove them into Brighton 
at the same gait they would draw a hearse. The little trump said 
she was not much scared, but admonished us not to mention the 
scare to her mother, who would manifest the most fright after 
the danger had passed. 

Belsize. Lady Ann is a ridiculous old dear; I beg pardon, your 
ladyship. 

Keiv. There is a brother of Sir Brian's there, an East Indian 
colonel, a fine old fellow. 

Belsize. Smokes awfully, a row about it at the hotel. Oh, go 
on Frank, I beg your — 

Keiv. The old colonel was on the lookout, and when we halted 
sent a message to Lady Ann. He took the children out and lifted 
Miss Ethel out and kissed her and said he was too glad to find 
fault when nothing serious had resulted. 

Lady Kew. I think you both deserve to be whipped. 

Keiv. We went up and made our peace with Lady Ann and 
were formally presented to the colonel and his youthful cub. 

Belsize. As fine a gentleman and as fine a lad as I ever saw. 
he young chap is famous for drawing, and the children were well 
supplied with specimens of his skill, which I took the pains to 
examine, and found they were all well executed. There was a 
group which Lady Ann pointed out to me and exclaimed how 
pretty it was. As you know, Lady Ann, is uncommonly senti- 
mental. 

Lady Keiv. My daughter Ann is the greatest fool in three king- 
doms. {Looking -fiercely over her spectacles.) Julia, write to Ann 
immediately to send Ethel to see her grandmother. (Enter serv- 
ant.) 



12 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT I 

Servant. Dinner in the hall, my lady. 

(Kew offers his arm to his grandmother and Belsize to Julia.) 

Lady Kew. And Ethel is a trump. 

Lady Julia. Alfred is a brick. 

Belsize. And Barnes is a little snob. 

{Exeunt l laughing.) 



SCENE 2. — ACT I. Drawing room, Park Lane, London. Sir 
Brian Discovered at sofa r reading newspaper. Barnes to left 
seated at small table and lamp reading newspaper. Lady Ann 
at tabourette, table r, and Ethel at tabouretie, table l c, both 
engaged with embroidery and worsted work. Alfred c table 
playing with toys.) 

Barnes. Everybody of prominence attended the Belgrave Square 
ball, given by Lady Tompkyns Toodles. (Looking over from news- 
paper to Ethel.) 

Lady Ann. Mrs. Toodle Tompkyns, whoever heard of Mrs. 
Toodle Tompkyns before? What do people mean by attending 
such assemblies? 

Barnes. Lady Popinjay asked the same question, but got no 
answer. The thing was really well gotten up; the hostess wao 
somewhat nervous and frightened, as though not used to entertain- 
ing so many people of distinction. She, however, is quite pretty, 
and I am told her daughter is a desirable catch, having much 
wealth invested in British consols. 

Ethel. Did you dance with her? 

Barnes. Of course I did, and the young lady seemed pleased 
with my attentions and invited me to call. I see by the paper 
that our uncle, Colonel of Sepoys, and his noble boy are paying a 
visit at Newcome and that many citizens are paying their respects 
to him. 

Ethel. You are always sneering about our uncle, and saying 
unkind things about Clive, Barnes. I love our uncle, who is good 
and kind to all of us. When mother came to Brighton to be with 
her sick family the colonel and his son came also. He used to 
take the sick children out frequently for the fresh air, and had 
Alfred out for hours and hours every day. Clive was equally as 
good and generous, supplying the children with pictures to amuse 
and divert them. Yet Barnes is always speaking of both behind 
their backs. 



SCENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 13 

Barnes. And Olive's aunt lets nice lodgings and cooks nice pies, 
and is altogether a most desirable acquaintance. What a shame 
we have neglected to cultivate that branch of the family. 

Sir Brian. My dear fellow, I have no doubt Miss Honeyman 
is a most respectable person; nothing is so ungenerous as to re- 
buke a gentleman or lady on account of their poverty, and I coin- 
cide with Ethel in thinking you speak in terms (to say the least) 
that are disrespectful of your uncle and his son. 

Ethel. Miss Honeyman is a dear little old woman, was she not 
to Alfred, mamma, in making for him nice jellies and delicacies? 
And you know Olive's grandfather was a doctor of divinity, mam- 
ma, and that a portrait of him in his cannonical robes and wigs 
hangs on the wall in the back room, which proves he was of as 
high descent as a banker. 

Barnes. Did you bring some of Miss Honeyman's lodging 
house cards back with you, Ethel, and had we not better put 
them up with those of the other relative Mrs. Mason on the walls 
of our banking house? 

Lady Ann. My darling love, who is Mrs. Mason? 

Barnes. Another relative of the family, m'am. She was a 
cousin — 

Sir Brian. She was no such thing, sir. (Emphatic.) 

Barnes. She was a relative and housemaid of my grandfather 
during his first marriage, and acted as dry nurse to the now 
colonel of East Indian Sepoys — my uncle. She retired into pri- 
vate life quite early and has since lived in her native town of 
Newcome, engaged in the management of a mangle. The colonel 
and young pothouse, his son, have gone down to spend some days 
with their relative. Here it is all in the newspaper. By jove ! 
(Clenches fists and stamps on newspaper.) 

Ethel. And so they should go down and see her, and should 
the colonel love his old nurse, who came and cared for him when 
no other relative came nigh, and he unable to help himself. He 
should never forget her now when she is old and poor. 

Barnes. It is in both papers, sir. Here, sir. (hands paper to 
Sir Brian) read our paper first, and the opposition journal next, 
and see how you will relish the comments thereon of both papers. 

Sir Brian. (After reading lays the paper down.) I see no 
harm in the first paragraph. The colonel should have put up at 
the "Roebuck Inn" instead of the "King's Arms," which is pat- 
ronized by the ragtag and bobtail and not by the gentry, but then 
he may not have been posted on the reputation of our country 



14 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT 



1 



inns. I think it was very proper for the people to call and pay 
their respects to a veteran in the service of their country. 

Barnes. • Now, sir read the other article. 

Sir Brian. No, sir, if it is the one signed "Peeping Tom" I 
have already read it, and find it is leveled against us, and breaths 
the spirit of radicalism that is rampant abroad in the land. It is j 
dreadful that the advocacy of such outrageous sentiments should 
be tolerated and be publicly proclaimed broadcast. We appear to 
be on the edge of an active volcano, liable to burst at any mo- 
ment and instantly blow us to atoms. (Inadvertently upsets a 
glass of beer he has occasionally sipped.) Something must be done 
to suppress the violence that confronts us . (Pauses aside.) Who 
could have written that article? Perhaps it was Vidier. (Aloud.) 
Lady Ann, I told you how it would be if you failed to include Mr. 
Vidier, the apothecary, and his family to your annual ball. 

Lady Ann. Thev were included in the list — three of them — 
and when I consulted Mr. Vidier about Alfred's symptoms he 
actually waited and saw the poor child take his nasty physic. I 
don't know how it happened the girls did not attend the ball. I ap- 
prehended that it was due to a want of proper apparel to appear in. 

Ethel. It was Barnes that scratched their names off the list. 
You know you did, Barnes, and said there was too many gallipots 
already invited. Is it true, mamma, that grandpa has a relative 
living at Newcome who is aged and poor? 

Lady Ann. Darling child, how should I know? I dare &a,y 
your grandfather had plenty of poor relations. 

Sir Brian. I am sure that some relations on jowr side, Ann, 
have called on me at the bank. The person referred to was not 
a relative of my father at all. She was remotely connected with 
his first wife and acted as servant to him, and has been hand- 
somely pensioned by my stepbrother, the colonel. 

Barnes. G-ad, sir, then let Ethel go to Newcome and carry out 
her purposes and present Mrs. Mas&n with an old scown and a 
bundle of tracts, and forever close the mouths of our blatant rela- 
tives. 

(Enter Lady Keiu r and takes vacant chair r c.) 

Alfred. (Playing with tops c table.) Sister Ethel is in love 
with Cousin Clive and he is coming here to marry her. Mrs. Ma- 
son, the old lady at Newcome, told me all about it. 

Barnes. I dare say the old lady has told the tale all over New- 
come. It may be published in the opposition paper next week. 
By, jove ! it is a pretty connection and nice acquaintance this 
uncle brings us. 



SCENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 15 

Ethel. (Loses temper and bursts into tears.) I deny it! 
There's not one word of truth in it. Barnes with meanness and 
malignity is forever uttering stories to my disadvantage, and is 
constantly slandering the purest of men. I will write the colonel 
and request him not to spend next Christmas. (Starts to retire 
and when she reaches c table.) Come, Alfred dear, it is time for 
little boys to be in bed. (Exeunt Ethel and Alfred l. Enter Col. 
T. N. r and Mrs. Hobson Newcome \>, meeting.) 

Maria. Why, my dear colonel, I am glad to meet you. I have 
wanted to thank you. 

Col. T. N. Thank me? Pray, Maria., what have I done to be 
thanked for? 

Maria. For your kindness to my boys in treating them to the 
sights of the town. 

Col. T. N. Tush ! Tush ! Maria, not worth a thankee. 

Maria. Fm sure it was kindly meant. But, dear colonel, you 
should remember my boys and Clive have been raised on different 
principles, and, excuse me for saying it, I don't deem it advisable 
that they should become too intimate. Clive's company appears 
not good for them. 

Col. T. N. Great heavens, Maria ! Do you mean that my boy's 
society is not good enough for any boy alive? 

Maria. With such slight grounds why become angry? Your 
boy is much older than either of mine, and his associates are not 
altogether of the genteel class; therefore we prefer that our chil- 
dren be brought up on a different plan. You, yourself, are always 
most generous and kind. I trust you will credit us with like in- 
tentions. 

Col. T. N. I am much surprised at the proposition, and see no 
reason for its adoption. However, I recognize the right of parents 
to regulate and rear their offspring in accordance with the best 
light they can obtain, and trust you have found the true course 
to pursue. So far as Clive is concerned, I have no fears but what 
he will continue the same comfort to his father he has always 
been. (Retires up and greets relatives. Enter Hobson Neivcome l 
and approaches his wife.) 

Hobson. I say, Maria, haven't you had enough of the com- 
pany here? Let us cut out. I am awful sleepy. 

(Maria turns her back and retires up stage.) 

Hobson. Well, if we have to wait I'll find a place to have a 
nap. (Exit l. Enter Clive r, who addresses the dowager.) 

Clive. I hope to find your ladyship in excellent health and 
spirits. 



16 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT I 

Lady Keiv. (Stares at him.) Who are you, sir? 

Clive. My name is Clive JSTewcome, and I have your ladyship's 
acquaintance. 

Lady Keiv. Hum ! I believe I have heard your name and heard 
very little good of you. (Takes another survey.) Upon my word, 
colonel, I think we were right. 

Col. T. N. No doubt right in everything your ladyship con- 
ceives, but in what particular? 

Lndy Keiv. To keep Clive out of the way. He is the hand- 
somest youth in London. Fortunately, Ethel has been disposed of 
these ten years. Did not Ann tell you? Hbw foolish of her, but 
like all mothers, they desire to keep all lovers in suspense and 
have them dance attendance and devotion to their daughters as 
long as hope endures. Has your son been really wicked? I was 
told he was a sad scapegrace. 

Col. T. N. I never knew him to do and I don't believe he ever 
thought of anything- that was untrue, unkind or ungenerous. I 
suspect his enemy, the cowardly cur. 

(Re-enter Hooson l. Clive retires up to lc and takes a seat and 

listens.) 

Hooson. (Approaches Barnes.) Halloa, Barnes! With your 
newspaper to nod over you are as quiet here as a mouse. Say, 
Barnes, what do you think about that nabob relative of ours. He's 
a queer fish and proud as Lucifer. He's always getting huffed 
about something. He went into a fume tonight because your 
Aunt Maria objected to his taking our boys to the theater. She 
doesn't like their going out at night; neither did our mothers. 

Barnes. I always knew my aunt was perfectly aware of the 
time of day. (Bowing.) 

Hooson. And the colonel flies out about his boy, complaining 
that Maria had insulted him because Clive was not thought a 
proner associate for our boys. Before the colonel came home. 
Clive was a good lad enough ; a jollv, brave little fellow. 

Barnes. I confess I did not know Clive at that interesting 
period of his existence. 

Hooson. But since he has taken the mad cap freak of turning 
painter there is no understanding the chap. Did you ever see 
such a set of fellows as the colonel had at his party the other night 
when Clive threw the glass of wine at you. Dirty chaps in velvet 
coats and black hands, thev looked like a set of mountebanks. And 
this Clive to be a painter? 

Barnes. A very advantageous thing for the familv. He'll do 
our pictures for nothing. I always said he was a darling boy. 



SCENE III] THE MATCHMAKERS 17 

Hobson. Darling jackass ! Confound it, why doesn't my 
brother set him up in some respectable business. I ain't proud ! 
I have not married an earl's daughter. No offense to you, Barnes. 

Barnes. Not at all, sir. I can't help it if my grandfather was 
a gentleman. 

Hobson. Ha, ha, ha. I mean I don't care what a fellow is 
if he is a good fellow. But a painter — hang it, a painter — it is 
no trade at all. I don't fancy seeing one of my family sticking 
up pictures. I don't like it, Barnes. 

Barnes. Damn all literary fellows, all artists, the whole lot 
of 'em. 

Clive. {Coming down stage.) I deny it, sir. 

Hobson. {Amazed.) Hold, sir. Do not forget where you are. 

{Barnes shows signs of fear, CUve scorn and contempt. Others 
gather around and form an ensemble.) 



SCENE 3. — ACT I. Social assembly at residence of Col. Thomas 
Newcome 5, Fitzroy Square, London. Arched entrance at 3 
dividing ball room and drawing room. Interior drop at 5. 
All entrances and exits l from and to interiors. Drawing 
room. Colonel T. N. and Mrs. Mack, at table l c. Discovered. 
Mrs. Made retires. H. and Colonel at b to receive Rosa 
and Mrs. Mack enter at piano. Enter Lady Ann, Ethel, Lady 
Kew, Hobson and wife, received by Colonel. Lady Ann, Ethel, 
Lady Kew, Mr. and Mrs. Hobson Neivcome enter e ushered by 
Colonel T. N. to seats e c drawing room. Mrs. Mack and Rosa 
at piano l discovered examining music slieets. Col. T. N. at 
e entrance receiving company.) 

Col. N. T. My dear Mrs. Mackenzie, I have insisted that your- 
self and charming daughter Rosa shall continue our fair guests 
until such time as you may desire to return to your native crags, 
which we trust will not happen until our return from my sojourn 
in the East Indies and of my son Clive from artistic studies 
abroad. We know you are possessed of a merry humor and that 
it is in your power to dispense the hospitality of our home to the 
friends we leave behind. We tender you full charge of the same 
during the period of our absence; you are the widow of a veteran 
soldier and honor dictates that your welfare should be* provided 
by a brother veteran. I trust therefor you will assume chaige of 
this soldier's home and remain in it until the return of the vet- 
eran commander or his representative. 



18 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT I 

Mrs. Mack. Oh, dear colonel, I hardly expected such a kind 
and generous offer. Under ordinary circumstances it is a matter 
of small moment to accept the responsibility without first consult- 
ing my darling child, for I would not allow any position to sep- 
arate us. Therefore, as my daughter takes kindly to the life here 
and enjoys excellent health and spirits I could not take her back 
to the home where she pined and was rapidly withering away and 
death must have soon separated us. I see no reason why your gen- 
erous offer should be rejected. Wherever she is I am content to be. 

Col. T. N. Then the bargain is concluded, and for the sake of 
Rosa you will take charge of tlris home of a soldier until his re- 
turn from abroad. 

Mrs. Mack. You know that Eosa is always good, always gay and 
always cheerful and happy, and so long as she's always these I am 
likewise. 

Col. T. N. Now to receive our guests. (Crosses to r. Enter Eosa 
and Mrs. Mack joins Tier at the piano, and examines music.) 

Col. T. N. It is exceeding kind of you all to come, for it is the 
greatest pleasure you can bestow upon an old man, to accept his 
hospitality. I assure you I really appreciate the kindly greetings 
of my relatives. I note, Lady Ann, you have failed to bring my 
brother, Sir Brian. Ah, here is brother Hobson. How are you, my 
junior ? 

Hooson. (Hands in trousers pockets, strolling in.) How de 
doo, brother Tom. I brought Maria with me. 

Lady Ann. Why, Maria dear, I was not aware it was you fol- 
lowing so close after us. (Kiss each other.) It has been an age 
since we met. 

Maria. Why, dear Ann, our occupations are so engrossing and 
our circles so different. 

Lady Ann. Very true, my dear. . (Playfully taps colonel with 
fan.) What did I tell you, colonel? Sir Brian wouldn't be able 
to get away from parliament. Those horrid committees. He was 
quite vexed at being unable to make his appearance here as prom- 
ised. 

Col. T. 'N. I guessed they would not let him off. Ah, here is 
my dear pet, who has always a kiss to greet her old uncle. (Kisses 
Ethel) 

Maria. Yes, yes, dear Ann. I know there are always excuses 
for gentlemen in parliament, I have received many such. Mr. Sha- 
boney and Mr. Sheney, the leaders of our party, have often and 
often disappointed me, and had to dine on stone-cold dinners. I 
felt sure Sir Brian could not come. Nothing could induce Hob- 



SCENE III] THE MATCHMAKERS 19 

son or I to forego one of the colonel's parties. Ah, here comes the 
dear old fellow. 

Col. T. N. (Meets and shakes hands with Hobson.) I am pret- 
ty well, my dear brother, and hope you are the same. 

Hooson. (Hands in both trousers pockets.) Nearly used up, 
brother, I went to Marble Head yesterday, was in the hayfield this 
morning four hours before the train started, and was in the city 
till after five, reached home in season to catch Maria, and here 
we are on time for your party, but completely fagged out. (Aside.) 
I wish I could find a place to take a snooze. (Aloud.) How de 
doo. (Waving his hand.) Mr. Pendennis, Maria, you remember 
Mr. Pendennis, don't you ? 

Maria. Yes, perfectly. 

Hobson. I must find a place to indulge in a short nap. (Yawns 
and retires to u. e.) 

Col. T. N. Now, ladies, if you will follow me, we'll find seats 
for you. The Lady of Kew, has already honored us with her pres- 
ence, and you will be located near her. 

Lady Kew. The young lady is very pretty, Ethel. (Looking 
toward Rosa through an opera glass.) How very young her mother 
appears. Colonel Newcome must present us to Mrs. Mackenzie. 

Ethel. (Takes the colonel's arm, and conducts him to the piano.) 
My dear uncle, it is your duty now to present these two ladies to 
grandmother and other connections of our family. (Colonel bows, 
conducts the ladies to e c and formally presents the ladies. Clive 
enters from ball room at arch, exchanges a few words with Rosa 
and waltzes her off into ball room.) 

Mrs. Mackenzie. I have been highly honored by the acquaint- 
ance of my lady, Dowager Countess of Kew, Lady Ann and their 
noble connections. I have procured a copy of the "Peerage" and 
hope soon to be familiar with the pedigrees of our nobility. My 
darling daughter shall hereafter be costumed in similar apparel 
to that worn by Miss Ethel Newcome, and neither of us will com- 
mit a breach of etiquette by riding in a cab without a boy in the 
box, our cards and card eases will be embellished by the most ele- 
gant designs. My darling Rosa (betrays alarm) has mysteriously 
disappeared. (Rosa and Clive waltz to the arch and come down 
stage.) Ah, there she is, and here she comes. My darling, have 
you no acknowledgments to make to this distinguished company 
■for yourself. 

Rosa. Mamma knows best about these matters and all the cus- 
toms of polite society in which we are to move, and will advise 
and guide me as to the proper course to pursue. 



20 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT I 

Mrs. Mack. Now, Eosa dear, please favor the assembly with a 
Scotch ballad or other selection of music. 

Col. T. N. (While arrangement of music is being made.) I 
shall be delighted to hear Miss Eosa sing. 

Mrs. Mackenzie. (After the song.) Was not that most se- 
raphic? She used to sing in the Presbyterian choir. She always 
wanted to know if I could distinguish the sounds of her sweet 
voice. Of course I could, anywhere. 

Lady Kew. Do you intend to remain long in London. (Quiz- 
zing.) 

Mrs. Mackenzie. We have no wish to quit the charming metrop- 
olis. 

Lady Kew. (Aside.) I suppose that is an indication of an in- 
tended wedding. (Aloud.) Why should you come if you expected 
to return so soon? 

Mrs. Mackenzie. We will remain as long as it is agreeable. 

Lady Kew. (Aside.) Then she will stay until her plans are 
accomplished. 

Ethel. (To Rosa at the piano.) Do you love music? 

Rosa. I adore it intensely. Bellini and Donnozetti are my favor- 
ite composers. 

Ethel. You are fond of dancing? 

Rosa. We were not allowed to dance in Scotland at grandma's, 
and I cared nothing for it. Now there is no pastime so delightful. 
Mr. Clive dances very well, indeed. 

Ethel. (Smiling.) Do you like the country? 

Rosa,. Not much. Once I was very happy in the country. 

Ethel. How do you like London ? 

Rosa. London is the best place in the world I think ; I prefer 
it. (Looks around for her mother.) Oh, there is mamma engaged 
in discussion with Mr. Pendennis, who is laying down the law to 
her and smiling and smiling all she knows how. 

Pendennis. In fact the woman grins and grins like a Cheshire 
cat. 

Ethel. Mr. Pendennis, you have heard what Eosa has had to 
say. What do you think of the girl ? 

Pendennis. I think her simple, humble artlessness is very charm- 
ing. Her conclusions seem neither decided, profound or original, 
perhaps due to the preponderating influence of her parent. The 
smattering statements made by young ladies aboift the sciences 
of astronomy and chemistry which form a part, of the studies of 
maidens may confuse and bewilder, and of course she is unable to 
claim a knowledge of these abstruse branches of education,'' 



SCENE III] THE MATCHMAKERS 21 

Ethel. (Laughs.) I, too, must confess my lack of knowledge 
of these matters, and Eosa can justly claim she is not the only 
ignoramus present here. Uncle, I was about to seek you ; you must 
walk with me tomorrow, as it is to be your last day in London. 
(Exit Lady Kew rue.) 

Col. T. N. You have only to issue your commands, and, like a 
good soldier, I obey. 

Ethel. Good-night, your dear, good uncle, we must go. 

Col. T. N. Not until you have paid the customary toll. 

Ethel. It has not been exacted. 

Col. T. N. But it will be immediately. (Kisses Ethel.) 

(Party preceded by Mrs. Mack, folloived by Clive, Rosa, Pendennis 
and the colonel as they exit r c.) 

Mrs. Mackenzie. Why, I declare, the Dowager Lady Kew has 
given us the slip. She had a nap while I related the particulars 
of the governor's ball at Tobago, and the dispute of the two ladies 
as to which should have precedence, and when I concluded remarked 
she was weary of hearing old chestnuts continually repeated. 



22 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT II 



ACT II. 

SCENE 1. — Act II. Ladies' parlor hotel at Baden, Germany. Ent. 
door ec,c door gothic 3, closed. Pictures on the wall. Ethel 
L at table for writing discovered. Reads extracts from a letter 
she has written to Col. T. N. in India. Sir Brian and Lady 
Ann l o. 

Ethel. There * * * "We met Clive at Bonn on our way 
to Baden to attend a family gathering here, which may be called 
the Congress of Baden. He accompanies our party, and mamma 
says was very kind and useful, for none of us speak a word of Ger- 
man. Lord Kew is our chief, owing to the absence of our grand- 
mother, the Dowager Countess of Kew, who has not arrived as yet. 
His lordship, when not occupied with the fumes of tobacco smoke, 
devotes his spare moments to the entertainment of two French 
ladies, and plays at skittles. Lord and Lady Dorking are here with 
their beautiful daughter, Lady Clara Pullyn. Barnes JSTewcome is 
somewhere en route. Uncle Hobson JSTewcome has returned to Lon- 
don, suffering from a severe spell of sea sickness. I would not be 
surprised if Lady Clara changed her name to Newcome. A letter 
informs us that Lady Kew is detained at Kissengen with an attack 
of rheumatism, and that poor Aunt Julia was unable to leave her. 
* * * I think of you always as, your affectionate niece, Ethel." 

{Enter Lady of Kew r, attended by Sir Brian and Lady Ann, hob- 
bling on her stick, stops and gazes at the picture of a child 
hanging on the wall.) 

Ethel. (While hiding her letter.) Why, grandmamma ! I thought 
you were ill at Kissengen and couldn't come. 

Lady Kew. (Pointing with stick at picture.) You have no taste 
for pictures ; only for painters, I suppose. 

Ethel. I was not looking at the picture, but at the little green 
ticket in the corner. 

Lady Kew. Which means sold. Of course it is sold. All of 
Mr. Hunt's efforts are sold, there is not a single picture placed on 
exhibition but what bears the little green ticket. 

Ethel. I think, grandmamma, we young ladies of the world, 
when we are exhibited, should have a little green ticket pinned to 
the backs of our dresses with the word "sold" written in large let- 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKERS 23 

ters; it would prevent the ensuance of trouble and haggling in the 
future, when the purchaser came to claim us and carry us home. 

Lady Kew. Ethel, you are a fool ! {Hobbles to another picture 
on the wall and exclaims:) What splendid color; what a romantic 
gloom; what a flowing pencil and dexterous hand. I can delight 
in good pictures. I can applaud good poety and squeeze out a 
tear on a good novel, too. Young Dawkins, the rising water color 
artist, always has a splendid exhibit, as usual, but never a green 
ticket to indicate its sale. Surely such gems of art should find 
purchases. I will speak to the keeper about it, and if there is an 
error will have it rectified. 

Ethel. I will pin this green ticket on the front of this white 
frock to let the world know I have found a customer. 

Lady Ann. What do you mean, Ethel ? 

Ethel. [Making a curtsey to the dowager and looking her full 
in the face, turns to her father.) Papa, I am tableau eau vivant 
No. 46 in the next exhibition of painters' art works. 

Lady Ann. My love, what do you mean ? 

{Lady Kew jumps up by aid of her stick and tears ticket from 

Ethel's bosom. Enter Barnes r. Lady Kew, Sir Brian 

and Lady Ann retire l.) 

Ethel. Barnes, we have quite a collection of Olive's drawings 
on the table which you may examine if you feel so disposed. 

Barnes. I have no desire to examine the trash. 

Ethel. We had another pretty row a while ago, which your com- 
ing ended. 

Barnes. What was it? 

Ethel. I pinned a green ticket on my dress like those used on 
pictures to show that it has been sold, and I contended that young 
ladies were bought and sold the same as pictures, and that ticket 
on my dress indicated I had found a customer. When grandmamma 
saw it she furiously assailed me, and tore the ticket from my bosom. 
As you came in just afterwards, she retired to her room in high 
dudgeon. 

Barnes. Like most of the members of our family, you are a 

d d fool. All women sell themselves for what you call an 

establishment every day, and so common has the practice become 
it is high time it was approved and the custom regulated by law. 
Never mind about the pretence of love and affection at the altar, 
its sanctity, etc., the apparent dishonor is consummated with the 



24 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT II 

same eclat that attends every wedding. What the deuce does mar- 
riage de convenance mean ? All are the same, and are not such hy- 
meneal more satisfactory often that the most brilliant love matches 
that ever flamed and burned out? When the presumed sacrifice 
is made, the less said about it the better. 

Ethel. It does not end at the altar. The wretchedness it entails 
endures for life. (Exit l.) 

Barnes. That sister of mine has a contrary and rebellious will 
which needs to be watched. Let's see what the newspapers have to 
say about events to happen. (Lights a cigar and seats himself at 
table c, takes a paper from his pocket and proceeds to read.) Hallo ! 
here is something about marriage in high life. (Beads aloud.) 
Lord Kew and Hon. Jack Belsize have gone to attend a wedding 
at Baden, Germany. The lady, it is reported, was once the fiance 
of the last named gentleman. Kumors are afloat that Mr. Barnes 
Neweome of the well known banking firm of Hobson Brothers & 
Newcome, son of Sir Brian Kewcome, Bart, and M. P., from the 
borough of ISTewcome, descended in right line from Bryan de New- 
comyn, slain at battle of Hastings, etc., etc., will soon lead to the 
altar the lovely and accomplished Lady Clara Pullyn, daughter of 
Lord and Lady Dorking. The friends of the distinguished couple 
are said to be assembling at Baden to witness , the nuptials and 
tender their congratulations. This information may be worth 
preservation. (Cuts out the clipping and puts it in his vest 
pocket. Enter Sir Brian, Lady Ann and Ethel o D. Leave c d 
open, which gives a view of staircase at 5 g, up and down which 
children are to scamper at close of act.) 

Sir Brian. Well, Barnes, my dear son, the arrangements for 
your wedding have been completed. The Lacly Clara was out on 
the promenade this afternoon walking with her father, when they 
unexpectedly met Captain Jack Belsize, and the suddenness of the 
meeting caused the lady to swoon, and she laid for some little 
time on the ground, utterly unconscious. 

Barnes. Poor dear Lady Clara. Of course — of course, it must 
have been one of the fainting fits to which she has been subject 
from infancy up. No doubt due to agitation from beholding the 
infernal villain who treated her so shamefully. Had I been pres- 
ent I would have strangled the scoundrel — I'd have murdered him. 

Lady Ann. My son, my son, restrain your rage. 

Ethel. It is a mercy, indeed, that Barnes was not there ; a fight 
between the two would have ensued, which would have been fearful, 
indeed. 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKERS 25 

Barnes. I am afraid of no man, Ethel. By the eternal. (Very 
fierce.) 

Ethel. Hit a man of your size, Barnes. Hit Captain Belsize, 
he has no friends. 

Sir Brian. It is the cause in which we are engaged which lends 
strength to the body, and our son, having a beautiful creature under 
his protection, would have found both courage and strength suf- 
ficient to master his enemy, and any man under such circumstances 
would find himself equal to all requirements. 

Barnes. (Aside.) It is apparent that my governor is failing 
fast, besides frequent lapses of memory and groggy in his legs he 
is speeding rapidly towards the time when I will be greeted with 
his title. Ah, here (at c table) are those confounded drawings 
Ethel wanted me to look at. (Examines same.) There she is, as 
usual, on horseback, and the children and dogs crowding near, in 
the same old grouping. D — n him, I hardly know what to make 
of the young pothouse villain. He must be still about the prem- 
ises. Why hasn't Lord Kew knocked his head off ? (To Sir Brian) 
Clive is hanging around here and I've no doubt they have met. 

Ethel. Who and by what, Barnes? 

Sir Brian. Clive here, is he? Ha, you did not mention his 
presence in your letters, Lady Ann ? 

Lady Ann. We met him by mere chance at Bonn. He speaks 
German and was very useful to us the whole journey and carried 
Alfred the whole way in his britzka, 

Sir Brian. Boys always crowd into a strange carriage and wan- 
tonly kick the shins of all in it. You remember poor Tom, my 
brother, when we used to ride from Clapham, I felt a special de- 
light in bruising his shins. Tom was a devilish wild fellow in those 
days. 

(Enter servant r.) 

Servant. My Lord Kew! (Enter Kew r.) 

Barnes. Hjow do you do, Kew? How's Lady Clara? (Kew 
ignores Barnes, crosses and shakes hands with Sir Brian.) 

Kew. I am glad to find you have recovered from your last ill- 
ness, sir. 

Barnes. You have not told me how Clara is, my good fellow. I 
have heard all about her meeting that detestable villain, Jack 

Kew. Don't call names, my good fellow. It strikes me you 
don't know Belsize well enough to call him nicknames or by any 
sobriquet. Lady Clara Pullyn, I hear, is very ill indeed. 

Barnes. Confound the fellow. How dared he to come here ? 



26 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT II 

Kew. Dare is another ugly word. Fd advise you to use it to 
the fellow himself. 

Barnes. "What do you mean ? 

Kew. It means that Belsize is determined to have your blood 
and is walking under the lime trees over there with a thundering 
big stick to waylay you. 

Barnes. {Barnes displays signs, of fear.) I'm going to my 
room for a handkerchief. {Retires l d with a pistol in his coat 
pocket.) 

{Enter Lady Kew l d, re-enter Barnes l d, enter Olive r. In cross- 
ing Glive manages to step on Barnes' foot.) 

Barnes. {Limps to R.) D — n clumsiness. {Shrieks with pain.) 

Olive, (r c) Why do you spread your feet over the surface of 
the earth. I thought you only swore at women, Barnes. 

Barnes. It is you that say things before women. {Scoivling, 
pulls out handkerchief and pistol, the latter is caught up and put 
back without being observed.) 

Olive. In what company, Barnes, would you have me call you 
a snob? Will you have it out on the parade? If so, come out 
and Til have it arranged. {As Barnes makes no reply to the chaU 
lenge the men laugh. Kew and others laugh, Ha, Ha, Ha.) 

Lady Ann. What wickedness are you laughing at? No good, 
I'll be bound. Come here, Clive, I want you. {Kew advances.) 

Kew. Clive trod on Barnes' toes, where his favorite corn is sit- 
uated. Now he's invited out to adjust the matter, he can't go on 
account of the pain and torture he endures. 

Lady Kew. Hum ! as I take it, they are guying poor Barnes for 
cowardice. 

Olive. At your service, dear Lady Ann. {Exit Ethel CD.) 

Lady Ann. My dear Clive, we are sorry to hear you are going 
away. You were of the greatest use to us on the journey to this 
place. I'm sure you have been uncommonly good natured and 
obliging, and shall miss you very much. It was to extend our 
feeble thanks for the good service you have rendered and express 
our hope you will acquire the skill you seek. 

Oliv. Thank you, dear aunt, for you have been really good and 
kind to me, and it is I that will feel lonely, but it is high time I 
should go to my work. 

Lady Kew. Quite time, I should say. Baden is a bad place 
for young men. They make acquaintances here of which very lit- 
tle good can come. They frequent the gaming tables and associate 
with the most disreputable French viscounts and croupiers. We 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKERS 27 

have heard of your goings on, sir. It is a great pity your father 
did not take you with him. 

Lady Ann. My dear mamma, I am sure Clive has been a very 
good boy, indeed. 

Clive. My dear aunt, you have always been very good, and 
kindness is nothing surprising from you, but Lady Kew's advice, 
which I should not have ventured to ask, is an unexpected favor. 
The colonel, my father, knows the extent of my gambling transac- 
tions to which her ladyship refers, also the gentleman whom he 
introduced and whose acquaintance is deemed undesirable. 

Lady Keiv. {In good humor.) My good young man, I think it 
is time you were off. Go to Kome; go to Florence; go wherever 
you like, and study very hard, and produce very good pictures; then 
come back again and we shall be very glad to see you. You have 
talent; the sketches you have brought are really capital and pro- 
claim your ability. 

Lady Ann. Is not he very clever, mamma ? 

Lady Kew. We are come here, as I suppose you know, Mr. New- 
come, upon family matters, and I frankly tell you that I think for 
your own sake you would be much better away. I wrote my daugh- 
ter a great scolding letter when I heard you were in this place. 

Lady Ann. But, mamma, it was by the merest chance, indeed 
it was. 

Lady Kew. Of course it was by the merest chance, and by the 
merest chance I heard of it, too. A little bird came while I was 
at Kissengen and whispered in my ear the unwelcome tidings. You 
have no more sense, Ann, than a goose. I have told you so a hun- 
dred times. (To Clive.) In effect, Lady Ann has requested you 
to stay. I, my good young friend, request you to go away. 

Clive. I needed no request, my going, Lady Kew, is my own 
act. I was going without requiring a guide to show me the door. 

Lady Kew. No doubt you were, my friend; my arrival here is 
the signal for Mr. Newcome's Ion jour. I am Bogey and I fright- 
en everybody away. (Rises and goes to cd.) (To children.) Go back 
and play in the garden, you little brats. Ethel's engagement to Lord 
Kew has long been settled in our family, though such matters should 
not be discussed until after they have been accomplished. When 
we saw your father last in London we heard that you, too — that 
you, too, were engaged to a young lady of your own rank in life. 
What was her name now? Let me see, something like Miss Mac- 
Pherson, I think. No, that was not the name, Miss Mac- 
kenzie I'm quite sure. Do not look surprised that I know about 
your affairs. I am an old witch and know the ins and outs of 



28 THE MATCHMAKERS ACT II] 

many things — more than I am suspected of knowing Yon will like 
to say good-bye to your Cousin Ethel; wait and I'll call her. (Goes 
to c d.) Ethel! Ethel! Mr. Clive Newcome is here to bid us all 
good-bye. 

(The children scamper bach when they hear the harsh voice of their 

great-grandmother. They follow Ethel down the stairway 

shown through open c door in single file holding 

the train of Ethel, or the skirt of the 

child in front.) 

(Enter Ethel l c door. Clive rises to meet her.) 
Clive. Yes, Fve come to bid all good-bye. My holidays are 
over and I'm off for Eome. Heaven bless and preserve you — Miss 
— Miss Ethel; I can say no more — farewell children (who cluster 
around and cling to him. Ethel's hand drops mechanically to her 
side, no pressure takes place. Clive kisses each of the children in 
turn and rushes off e. . Children continue to wail loudly and are 
led back by Ethel as they come.) 

Child. He sant do. (On the stair.) 

Continue as Scene 1, Act II. 

Lady Kew. Are you such a fool, Ethel, to grieve for the young 
painter and the yellow straggling soft down on his cheek, struggling 
for life as a matured beard. His drawings are quite pretty, and 
it is possible for him to earn a couple of hundred pounds a year. 
You can easily break your engagement with Lord Kew and live 
happily hereafter on an income of two hundred pounds a year and 
moonshine, if you are disposed to make the venture. 

Ethel. (Quietly goes to a secretaire or a drawer in table and 
gathers a portion of Clive's drawings and casts them into set fire- 
place, being closely observed by dowager.) There perish beautiful 
creations and likewise my fondest dreams. 

Lady Kew. A very dutiful piece of work and so intended. 
(Aside.) Lord Kew seems safe from her whims now, and it may 
be supposed that her love for the painter was only inspired by 
youthful memories of childhood joys. 

Ethel. Oh, what a life is ours. How you buy, sell and haggle 
over your children. It is not for Clive I grieve, poor boy, for our 
ways in life are henceforth in separate directions. I can not break 
from my own family, for how warily they watch and control the 
situation; even if my fate could be escaped, I know too well what 
welcome he would meet in the family circle. He's only a poor 
painter, and I a banker's daughter. Had he wealth his reception 
would be far different — a genuine welcome would await him. 



SCENE ij THE MATCHMAKERS 29 

Lady Kew. Lord Kew is of a noble family, whose rights are 
never impaired by excess of habits. He is free at any moment to 
resume moral life without blemish or stain, and is assured Of a puri- 
fied reputation. 

Ethel. A fortune, a fortune covers all faults, we own it, we are 
proud of it, we barter rank against money and money against rank 
at all times, for it is the custom. Why did you marry my father 
.to your daughter? It was neither for his genial disposition or wit. 
He might have been an angel, but without wealth you would have 
scorned him. It was the money of the Newcomes that bought my 
mother. 

Lady Kew. ]STot in your time, Ethel. 

Ethel. I wear my green ticket until the owner calls for his pur- 
chase. The poor wretch, my brother, and the poor girl you con- 
trived he should marry, Lady Clara. Why does she not fly and 
escape the hateful bondage of an ill assorted marriage? She per- 
haps belongs to her family, and in their interest she must be sacri- 
ficed. If I should ever love a man of my own free will and ac- 
cord, I would lqye him better than the world, than rank, fine 
horses or titles, all of which I would cheerfully abandon to prove 
my devotion, which I hold to be the true teachings of the holy 
sacrament of matrimony. Now I belong to the world and my fam- 
ily, and must do what is their interest to advise. They make a 
fine marriage for us, but the importance of the impending step 
may not be duly considered, and when too late the realization is 
apparent that it would have been better, like the laboring women 
of this kingdom, to have followed the plough. 

Lady Kew. ISTo, Ethel, you would not have followed the plough. 
These are the fine speeches discoursed by school girls. The showers 
of the rain and the effects of outdoor exposure spoil the complexion, 
discolor and harden the features of the face. You would he fa- 
tigued and worn out by over-exertion, as the over-worked field hands 
you so glibly refer to. It is well you understand, you belong to 
your belongings. You may be aware you are very good looking, 
but no one knows you conceal a bad temper, which must not be 
made manifest before marriage. It is fortunate your intended 
husband has a calm disposition ; such a prize seldom falls to the lot 
of every pretty girl, and pretty girls in general hide their defects. 
Why, you have already sent your lover away quite scared at your 
cruelty. I fear he may think you a termagant. When I enter- 
tained your poor grandfather he never knew I had a bad temper. 
Perhaps Lord Kew may pause if he becomes suspicious. 

Ethel. Why do you urge this marriage, grandmamma. My 
Cousin Clive is not so much in love 1 — at least, I should fancy not. 






30 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT II 

(Blushes.) I am bound to own that Lord Kew manifests no eager- 
ness or haste, and I'm quite sure would be willing to postpone the 
wedding for an indefinite period if consulted as to the date. Then 
why should you be so very anxious ? 

Lady Kew. Why, my dear? Because I think young ladies who 
prefer to work in the fields rather than enter upon an ordinary con- 
tract should make hay while the sun shines. Because T think it 
high time that my grandson should drop his dissolute habits. Be- 
cause I am sure Kew will make the most affectionate husband and 
my dear Ethel the prettiest countess in the realm. (Lady Kew 
fondly and affectionately regards her granddaughter, who turns and 
surveys herself in the glass.) 

Ethel. Ah, but, grandmamma, I have the written record of my 
intended husband's past life; here, read it and answer me if it is 
not true. {Lady Kew adjusts her glasses and reads the letter, in- 
tently watched oy Ethel.) 

Lady Kew. There is neither date nor signature to the letter. I 
see nothing very objectionable in the circumstances related, that re- 
flect on the accused, certainly none that are worse thau told of a 
thousand young men of pleasure. Besides, the person who would use 
such means of calumniation are not apt to scruple in the use of 
false statements to substantiate her account. 

Ethel. Her purpose? How do you know it was a woman that 
wrote it? 

Lady Kew. I thought the handwriting was a woman's. It is 
not likely a man would send an anonymous letter to a young lady 
in wreaking his hatred on Lord Kew. Frank had no rivals except 
the young man who has carried his paint boxes to Italy. You don't 
think your dear colonel's son would work such a piece of mischief ? 
You must act as if the letter had never been written; the person 
who wrote it will be on the watch for its effects, and of course we 
are too proud to let him see we are wounded, and pray, pray, do 
not think of letting poor Frank know a word of this horrid trans- 
action. 

Ethel. Then the letter is true, you know it is true, grand- 
mamma, and that is why you would have me keep it a secret from 
my cousin. Besides (hesitates) your caution comes too late, Lord 
Kew has seen the letter. 

Lady Kew. You fool. (Screamed.) You were not so mad as 
to show it to him ? 

Ethel. I'm sure now the letter is true. (Rising haughtily.) 
It is not by calling me bad names that your ladyship will disprove 
it. Keep them, if you please, for Aunt Julia. She is sick and 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKEKS 31 

weak and unable to defend herself. I do not choose to bear abuse 
from you or lectures from Lord Kew. He happened to be here 
a short while since when the letter came, and was good enough 
to preach me a sermon on his own account. He, to find fault with 
my conduct. (Clenching letter.) He, to accuse me of levity, and 
to warn me of making improper acquaintances. He began his lec- 
tures too soon. I am not a lawful slave yet, and prefer my free- 
dom of action, at least as long as I am free. 

Lady Kew. (With Resentment.) You told Frank all this, Miss 
Newcome, and he read the letter ? 

Ethel. The letter was brought to me whilst his lordship was 
in the midst of his sermon. I read it (gathers anger and scorn) 
and gave it to him, as I considered it a good commentary on his 
speech, which, even had he been a bishop, could not have been 
more polite. He didn't call me a fool, or use a single phrase of 
reproach. I don't think my Lord Kew will preach to me again. 

Lady Kew. I don't think he will, indeed. You don't know 
what you have accomplished, perhaps mere mischief than I can 
patch up. Now he may find refuge and sympathy with his precious 
mother. Please ring the bell and order my carriage. I congratu- 
late you on having performed a most charming day's work. Good- 
bye ; I trust I may reach Kehl before his mother, and if I do, may 
return with some good tidings. (Exit n. Ethel makes a curtsey 
to her grandmamma.) 

(Enter Lord Kew.) 

Kew. (Approaches Ethel kindly and tenderly.) My dear Miss, 
if you had loved me you would never have shown me that letter. 

Ethel. (Blushing.) You are very brave and generous, Frank, 
■ and I admit I am captious and wicked. (He kisses away the tear 
on her hand.) 

Kew. You must not allow our biographical letter writer to 
fancy we are hurt. We must still appear as good friends as we 
ever were. My time is limited and I have made an engagement 
which must be met and the hour is nearly by. Perhaps I had better 
say farewell, Miss Newcome. (Aside as he exits R) Now to the 
field of honor. 

Ethel. Yes, we will always be good friends, but lovers — never 
more. (Exits L, sighs.) 

(Scene closes.) 



32 THE MATCHMAKERS "f ACT II 

SCENE 2. — Act II. Chamber in hotel at Kehl, Germany. Iron 
bedstead,, bed and bolster l, flat with r and l t>, one of which 
opens into a cupboard, the other, r, enters Lady Waltham' s 
chamber and is locked, hey inside. 

Kew. Dear mother, it is a beautiful morning and I feel strong 
enough to take a stroll in the garden of the hotel. 

Lady Waltham. Be prudent, my dear son, and not overtax your 
strength. How is Ethel ? You have not mentioned her name since 
your arrival. 

Kew. Ethel is very clever, exceedingly handsome and very good 
to her relatives. Ask me no more. 

Lady Waltham. I am really sorry to hear of Sir Brian's con- 
dition. It is a pity that a worldly man like him should be so near 
the grave, and so little prepared for it. 

Kew. Every man for himself ! Sir Brian has led an exemplary 
life. He went to church every Sunday and had prayers in his 
family night and morning, yet he has never been half so well liked 
as his brother, Colonel Tom ISTewcome. Now, mother, if you will 
let me go I'll take my walk. (Exeunt l. Enter Lady Kew and Lady 
Waltham. The former seats herself in armchair near the empty 
bed.) 

Lady Kew. I have been detained at a wretched Dutch hostelry 
for a whole week with rheumatism and ought to have been here a 
week ago. Frank, my dear boy, what a pretty fright you have given 
us all. I ought to have reached here to have nursed you over a 
week ago, when your wound was fresh. They should not keep you 
in this horrid noisy room on the street. (Feels for the patient.) 
Ho ! what does this mean ? The boy is not here. 

Lady Wal ham. It is not Frank you are talking to, Lady Kew. 
It is only a bolster. I'd have you know, madam, I don't keep the 
boy in a noisy room facing the street. 

Lady Kew. Ah, this is the way to find him, I suppose. (Speak- 
ing to door l in front of her.) Ah, Frank, you thought we could 
not find you, but you see we have found you. (Pulls door open and 
finds an empty cupboard. Sinks back aghast. Tries r d and finds 
it locked on inside.) 

Lady Kew to Lady Walham. You will please see that I am pro- 
vided with a comfortable room and another, next to mine, for my 
maid. I will thank you to see to this matter yourself. I suppose 
Frank is locked up in that room with a basin of gruel and a book 
of Watts' hymns. 

(Enter servant l.) 

Lady Walham. Peacock, the Dowager Countess proposes to stop 



SCENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 33 

here -over night; please ask the landlord to assign the room re- 
quested by Lady Kew. If, madam, my son is locked up in any 
room, his mother is his best nurse. The room you found locked 
on the inside is the one I occupy in order that I may be close at 
hand if Frank should require anything. As far as I am concerned 
I may live out of the world, but I hear sometimes of queer things 
happening in it. You tell me I am a fool, and a prude, and I 
have to thank you for separating my child from me. Yes, you, for 
so many years of my life. 

Lady Kew. I did not come to see you, or for the abuse you have 
given me. 

Lady WaVham. I know very well you did not come to see me, 
and I also know very well, now that my son's life has been spared 
without your aid, you want to drag him back to ruin and sin. 

Lady Kew. It were best that you were confined in a straight 
jacket. Her nursing of her son seems to have turned her head. I 
came to see my grandson, Lord Kew. Why have I been alone with 
this mad woman and forced to listen to her ravings? 

Lady W. My son will soon be here to receive you. I implore you 
to say nothing that will agitate him. 

(Enter Lord Kew R.) 

Lady Kew. Bless me, my dear child. How well you look. Many 
a girl would give the world to have such a complexion. There's 
nothing like a mother for a nurse. Ah, no, Maria, you deserve to 
be a mother superior of a convent of Sisters of Charity. You do. 
We have had a sad sad time between anxiety for Sir Brian and about 
you, you naughty boy. I heard of your being wounded and ex- 
pected to reach here before you, but was detained by rheumatism 
at a stupid German inn for a whole week without sufficient ac- 
commodations. I wonder how I got through it all. Dr. Finch 
would not sanction the journey to Kehl, so I came without his 
consent. 

Kew. I am sure it was uncommonly kind of you, ma'am. 

Lady Kew. The horrible woman who wrote a certain letter, 
against whom I have always warned you — but young people never 
heed the advice of their grandmothers — has left Baden for good, 
I am informed. She ought to be kept on bread and water for the 
remainder of her life. The Dorkings were to go home last Tues- 
day. Lady Clara is really a dear little artless creature. I am 
sure you will like her Maria. As for Ethel, I really think she is 
an angel. I know where she would like to be now, the dear child, 
and if Frank should fall ill again he won't have a mother or a use- 
less grandmother to nurse him. I have got some very pretty mes- 



34 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT II 

sages to deliver from her, but they are only for your ears, my lord. 
Not even mamma's may hear them. 

Kew. Do not go, mother. My cousin Ethel is a noble young 
creature. She had admirable qualities which I appreciate with 
all my heart, and beauty, which you know I worship. I have 
thought of her a great deal while I laid stretched on the bed yon- 
der, and this very morning I wrote to her. 

Lady Kew. Bien, Frank. (Smiles.) 

Kew. I wrote to her on the subject of our last conversation. 
Some cowardly hand had written to her an account of my past life 
and she showed me the letter. Then I told her if she had loved me 
she would never have shown the letter to me, and bade her a fare- 
well. I am a poor weak devil, I know, and too easily led into temp- 
tation, and I should only make matters worse if I married without 
that love which ensures true happiness and only ends with life, or, 
perhaps, with eternity. 

Lady Kew. Ethel care for the world! (Gasped out.) She's 
the most artless, affectionate creature, my dear Frank. 

Kew. Ah, if I had been the painter, and young Clive had been 
Lord Kew, which of us do you think she would have chosen ? Her 
judgment is infallible. Clive is a brave, handsome, honest young 
fellow, and is a thousand times cleverer and better in every respect 
than I. 

Lady Walham. Not better, my dear, thank heaven. 

Lady Kew. No, I don't think he is better, Frank. (Rises upon 
her stick.) I really feel I am unworthy to be in so much pious 
company with so much exquiste virtue, which is much enhanced 
by the thought, my lord, of the pecuniary sacrifice you are making 
to carry out your noble principles, for I suppose you are aware I 
have been hoarding money, yes saving, pinching and denying my- 
self the necessities of life, in order that my grandson might one day 
have sufficient means to support the dignity of his rank and sta- 
tion. (With energy.) Go, live and starve, in your dreary old barn 
of a house. Marry a parson's daughter. 



SCENE ij THE MATCHMAKERS 35 

ACT III. 

SCENE 1. — Act III. Drawing room Park Lane, London. Ethel, 
Lady Ann and Clive discovered, the latter engaged in drawing 
pictures. Enter Marquis of Farintosh r. 

Lord F. Glad to see you, ladies. Had an a'wful stupid time 
last evening because Miss Ethel was not there. Really, pon honor, 
the party was a stupid affair. 

Ethel. We will take your simple .word for the fact. Permit me, 
Lord Farintosh, to make you acquainted with my cousin, Mr. Clive 
Keweome. (Bow and shake hands. Clive is inspected by a single 
glass and with one eye of Lord Farintosh.) 

Lord F. In the army, Mr. Kewcome ? 

Clive. No, sir; I'm a painter. You have heard of our ancestor, 
the barber surgeon? 

Lord F. Who the deuce was he? (Aside.) 

Ethel. He was one of our ancestors. 

Lord F. Ah, yes, If orgot ! But you are of a very old family ? 

Ethel. We can't help it. Why should we disclaim our ancestors ? 
(Looks over Clive' 's shoulder.) Why, I declare, he has made the 
barber surgeon, our ancestor, resemble Mr. Punch. (Handing pic- 
ture to Lady Ann.) 

Lady Ann. So he has, and it is a droll funny conception. Isn't 
it captal, Lord Farintosh? 

Clive. I suppose, sir, you consider it a shame to caricature one's 
own flesh and blood. 

Lord F. I dare say, I confess, I don't quite understand this 
sort of thing. Don't, pon my honor. I frequently see caricatures 
in the illustrated papers, but can never comprehend 'em. You'll 
go with me to Lady Inshower's party? You mustn't let Miss 
Blackcap have it all her own way. 

Ethel. She won't have it all her own way, never fear. 

(Enter servant with plate of tarts, which places before Ethel and 

exits.) 

Ethel. Won't you partake, Lord Farintosh. I can vouch for 
their quality for my aunt at Brighton is like the queen of hearts, 
famous for her tarts and good lodgings. 

Lord F. They are doocid good. (Wands his plate for more.) 
The cook of the lodgings is a stunner. 

Ethel. The cook? Dear me, it is not the cook. Don't you re- 



36 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT III 

member in the Arabian Nights who was such a stunner for tarts, 
Lord Farintosh? 

Lord F. I can't say I do. 

Ethel. I thought not. But there was a princess in Arabia, or 
China, or somewheres, who made such delicious tarts and custards 
that nobody could compare with, and there is an old lady in 
Brighton who has the same wonderful talent. 

Olive. And she is our aunt, and sister of our uncle, Eev. C. 
Honeyman, the preacher. 

Lord F. Upon my honor, did you make 'em, Lady Ann ? 

Lady Ann. The Honeyman pedigree is not a subject for in- 
vestigation. Please have the goodness to remove these things. 

Lord F. Then you'll go with me this evening, Miss Ethel ? Ta 
ta to all! (During exit r of Lord F. lie muses aside.) Pon my 
honoh, what uncommonly queer people these Newcomes are. The 
fellow Clive is a painter by trade, his uncle a preacher, his father 
a horse dealer and his aunt lets lodgings and cooks dinners. I won- 
der if I am to come much in contact with such common relatives. 

(Exit Lady Ann l. Enter Lady Kew hobbling on stick n.) 

Lady Kew. (Seats herself in easy chair.) At last I have reached 
London, the Gods be praised. I have hardly had a wink of sleep 
since I left you at Baden. How is your father? 

Ethel. He appears to be better, has had a good rest, and I think 
has more use of his limbs. 

Lady Kew. I wish I had a good night's rest. 

Ethel. I thought you were nursing your grandson at Kehl. 

Lady Kew. I would have nursed him had I not found a nurse 
in charge. 

Ethel. And Frank is pretty near well, grandmamma? 

Lady Kew. Well ! He looks as pink as a girl in her first season. 
I found him and his sainted mother in charge as nurse. I think 
she was hearing him his catechism, and I guess yoti can imagine 
why I came back so soon. 

Ethel. Because you quarrelled with Lady Walham, grandmam- 
ma. I believe I have heard there was always a difference between 
5<ou. 

Lady Kew. My grandson told me he had written to you? 

Ethel. Yes, and had you delayed your journey you would have 
spared me the humiliation of it. 

Lady Kew. You — the humiliation, Ethel? 

Ethel. Yes, madam. Do you suppose it is nothing to have me 
bandied about from bidder to bidder, and offered for sale to a gen- 
tleman who will not buy me. Why have you and all the family 



SCENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 37 

been so eager to get rid of me ? Why should you suppose Lord Kew 
would like me? What attractions have I in comparison with such 
a woman as the Duchess de Ivry? for this man, from whom I am 
parted by good fortune, who now writes me we are forever separat- 
ed. Yet your ladyship must go and entreat him to give me an- 
other trial. It is too much, grandma. Do please let me stay where 
I am, and do not worry me with more schemes for my establish- 
ment in life. Be contented with the happiness you have secured 
for Lady Clara Pullyn and my brother. Leave me to care for 
myself and my poor father. Here, at least, I know I am doing 
right. There goes my father's bell, he likes for me to be with him 
at breakfast to read his newspapers to him. 

Lady K. Stay a little, Ethel. (In trembling voice.) Heaven 
knows,I have had but little comfort from my children, even from 
you and Prank, upon whom I had set my heart and loved you both 
out of all my grandchildren. It was natural I should wish to see 
you come together, and it was with this end in view I have been 
saving money these many years that have passed, and when I am 
ready to bestow it, he flies to the arms of his mother, who has been 
pleased to hate me all her life, who took away my own son from 
me, and has now enthralled my son's son, towards whom my only 
fault was, I loved him too well, and consequently spoiled him. Don't 
leave me, too, my child ; let an old woman have something she can 
lavish her affections upon in her old age. I am not angry with you 
in the least for the hard words you have used. All I desire is to 
see you in the position that becomes you most. In which do I do 
wrong ? Ho, silly girl ! give your little hand. How hot it is ; 
mine is as cold as a stone, and shakes, doesn't it? It was a pretty 
hand once, like yours. What did Ann, your mother, say to Frank's 
letter? 

Ethel. I did not show it to her. 

Lady K. Let me see it, my dear child. (Coaxingly.) 

Ethel. There is all that is left of it (pointing to the ashes in 
set fireplace) ; it met the fate of Olive's pictures. 

SCENE 2. — Act III. Back Parlor b. Aunt Honeyman's lodgings 
at Brighton. Glive and Ethel discovered sofa l tete-tete. 

Clive. Here we are at the one destination, I trust you found 
your parent much improved, and will find a hearty welcome during 
your brief stay in Brighton. 

Ethel. Father appears to have improved but little, but I expect 
to be as happy in the company of my parents as I can be during 
my brief sojourn. 



38 THE MATCHMAKEKS [ACT III 

Clive. As yet I have had no opportunity to pay my respects to 
Aunt Honeyman, but I rest assured of the usual genuine welcome. 
The hour and one-half occupied in our trip seemed to me the 
shortest I ever experienced, and I regretted our arrival, for the 
reason we would have to part company. 

Ethel. I am glad it is over, for fear of what may be reported of 
our doings in the tunnel while the train was passing through, al- 
though I am unconscious of anything wrong. 

Clive. I know what I wished might happen at the time. 

Ethel. What? 

Clive. I wanted silence, to think over my joys, but the noise 
of the engine and the clatter of the wheels prevented, and in order 
to communicate to you I was obliged to lean over and place the 
organ of speech near your sense of hearing, and bawl at the top 
of my voice in your ear. Then it was I wished that the tunnel 
might fall in upon us ; or that we might travel on together forever 
and forever and say what we pleased, without the least danger of 
being overheard, no matter how loud I might bawl. The report 
of the incident referred to appears to have originated with your 
lady maid. 

Ethel. Yes, and such observers see more than they observe, and 
relate accordingly. (Goes to window and loolcs out.) I was look- 
ing to see if a carriage had come for me. 

Clive. I have one at the door that I hire by the hour, and I 
will take you anywhere, for time is no object; or you can take it 
without my company, as that seems not to be desirable. 

Ethel. Your company is sometimes very pleasant; sometimes 
you are not particularly lively. 

Clive. It were best I had gone? 

Ethel. If you think so, I cannot but think so. 

Clive. You know I follow you? Can I live on a smile vouch- 
safed at long intervals? and that no brighter than you give to all 
the world? I may see you night after night, happy, smiling and 
triumphant, hear your beauty praised, and behold you the partner 
of other men. Does it add to your triumph to think I behold your 
gayety? You seem proud to have a host of scalps in your belt; 
the more there are the greater your conquests. 

Ethel. My admirers may be- many ; if they find me alone, may 
by chance compliment me with such speeches as you make? That 
would add to my pleasure indeed. Answer me, here in return: 
Clive, have I ever disguised from any of my friends the regard I 
have for you? Have I not taken your part when maligned by 
others? In former days — when Lord Kew asked me, as he had 



8CENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 39 

right to do then— I said it was as a brother I held you; and al- 
ways would. If I ever have done wrong, it was two or three times 
in seeing you, without the authority of those I have to obey. Do 
you think I have not had hard enough words said to me about you, 
but that you must attack me, too, in return ? The other night at 
the ball I was wrong in telling you I would be there, too — as we 
went home. {Breaks down with emotion.) Go, sir. I never, 
thought you would have seen me in this humiliation ! 

Clive. Is it possible that I should have made you shed tears? 
Oh, dry them. Forgive me, Ethel, forgive me. I have no right 
to be jealous or to reproach you. I should not be proud or angry 
that I hear my Ethel praised by others. My dear, dear sister, 
even if you can be no more nearer to me. 

Ethel. I'll be all that, always, whatever harsh things you may 
say or think of me. There, sir, I am not going to be so foolish 
as to cry again. I like you with your mustaches best, and you 
must not cut them off again. You remember the day Lord Farin- 
tosh asked if you were in the army, and I thought to myself, why 
is he not? 

Clive. I should have been in the army if my father thought 
me fitted for it, and I am satisfied no one can help me to distinc- 
tion but through the efforts I achieve in the profession I have 
chosen, and it is beyond my ability, which should be of the first 
order, for without genius I can never hope to attain celebrity. 

Ethel. And you will never give up painting? 

Clive. No, never ! It would be like deserting a devoted friend 
and aimlessly wandering off in search of fresher and of less de- 
voted friendship. I would never quarrel against man or matron 
from following her chosen vocation. But why should women, who 
are alleged to be free, rebel against nature, shut their hearts up, 
sell their lives for rank and money and forego the most sacred 
right of their liberty? Ethel, you seem like a queen to me some- 
how, and I am but a poor humble fellow who may possibly be 
happy if he could believe you were. In those balls where I have 
seen you surrounded by noble young men and wealthy admirers, 
who may, like me, have often thought how could one aspire and 
ask her to forego a palace and share the crust of a poor painter. 

Ethel. You spoke quite scornfully about high life a while ago 
and I will not deny the regard for me you express, and which is 
believed to be sincere. But it were best not said, Clive; best for 
me not to own that I know it. In your speeches, my poor boy — 
please not make any more, or I can never see you or speak to 
you again, never — you forget one part of a girl's duty — obedience 



40 THE MATCHMAKEES [ACT III 

to her parents. They would never agree to my marrying any one 
below my station — any one whose union would not be advantageous, 
in a worldly point of view. I could never give such pain to the 
poor father, or to the kind mother, who has never used a harsh 
word to me since my birth. My grandmamma is kind in her way. 
I came to her of my own free will, when she said I was her chosen 
heiress. Do you think it was for myself alone I was glad, all 
the welfare of the little people dependent upon me, Clive — per- 
haps your own as well. Now do you see brother,, why you must 
not speak to me so no more? Did the exhibition accept any of 
your pictures? 

Clive. Yes, two of the five I sent. 

Ethel. One of which, I suppose, is Miss Eosa Mackenzie? 

Clive. Yes, a sweet little face, too delicate for my heavy hand 
to portray with justice. 

Ethel. A wax doll face, pretty pink cheeks, china blue eyes 
and coarse hair, the color of hemp, her first hair. 

Clive. I must bid you goodnight, without shaking hands. 

Ethel. Oh yes, you may shake hands once more, but no squeez- 
ing is allowed. (Exit Clive r, Ethel l.) 

(Close of Act III.) 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKERS 41 



ACT IV. 

SCENE 1. — ACT IV. Reception room, Tyburnia mansion. Side- 
board l. Table at c. Colonel T. Newcome and Clive discov- 
ered seated sipping wine. 

Col. T. N. My dear Clive, when I returned to London I had 
no knowledge of the relations subsisting between you and our 
little Eosa, From one of your letters I had learned that Ethel's 
engagement with the Earl of Kew had been broken off and the 
lady had no suitor for her hand. Knowing the mutual attach- 
ment that had always subsisted between you and her, I conceived 
the time favorable for a renewal of the proposition I had once 
before made in your behalf, and which was rejected, as I surmised, 
on account of our lack of wealth, and as we had since accumulated 
riches I agreed to bestow my entire wealth on you on condition 
that you wedded my beloved niece Ethel. Your cousin, who pro- 
fessed great friendship for us, pretended and said that project 
met with his entire approbation, and agreed to promote the union 
to a successful issue. He was selected to negotiate the matter. 
It is hardly necessary to say he played us false. All the lies 
he invented were made apparent, and I had the satisfaction of de- 
nouncing him in the presence of his employers. When you in- 
formed me of your engagement to Eosa I hailed it with delight 
as the only remedy that would ensure your future happiness, and 
urged forward the preparation for your wedding at Brussels. 

Clive. I am deeply sensible, dear father, of your solicitude for 
my future. 

(Enter Rosa l, approaches sideboard and fills a glass of wine for 

the colonel.) 

Col. T. N. Some unpleasant rumors as to our investments 
have reached my ears, but I give them no credence. Still I feel 
some uneasiness for others in the same boat whom we have in- 
duced to embark with us. (Rosa archly offers the wine to the 
colonel, while Clive helps himself.) 

Rosa. (Misapprehending the subject of conversation.) Why, 
papa, it is not a matter to make you uneasy. Momma is not an 
angel and never was. At" first it made me quite nervous, now I 
don't mind it a bit and have become quite used to it. Mamma 
used to scold me all day, both Josey and I, when we lived in 
Scotland, until grandmamma sent her away. And then again in 
Fitzroy Square, and while we were in Brussels waiting for Clive 



42 THE MATCHMAKEKS [ACT IV 

to come, and she used to box my ears and go off into awful tan- 
trums. 

Clive. Yes, I've seen her box Eosa's ears in Fitzroy Square, 
and the pair would come down the stairway with their arms 
around each other's waist, smiling and smirking as if they had 
done nothing else but kiss each other all their mortal lives. What 
does Othello know about women when he imagines he is wedded 
to a smiling, artless creature? (Exit Rosa l u e.) 

Col. T. N. You would not have her tell tales out of school, 
would you? 

Clive. No, but she might have mentioned facts to a loving 
husband that marred her own happiness. 

Col. T. N. I am glad to learn from later information that 
the fears I expressed have no foundation in fact. The tremendous 
indigo crop of the East has materially advanced our interests. The 
time seems opportune to enter the political arena, Clive. Either 
you or I should oppose the candidacy of Barnes. The scoundrel 
has been false from, his infancy up. 

Clive. I am no speaker, sir, and know nothing about parties 
or politics, which do not interest me in the least. 

Col. T. N. I wish I knew what would interest you? Either 
you or I may successfully oppose Barnes, and if you are not will- 
ing to offer yourself I suppose I must. I suppose you perceive 
that all our friends admire the simple petite bride, who has sup- 
planted her better known rival. 

Clive. Simple ! Certainly. 

Col. T. N. A simpleton of twenty is better than a roue of the 
same age. It is better to not have thought at all than to have 
thought such things as must have passed through the mind of a 
girl whose life is a succession of jilts and jilting, whose eyes, as 
soon as they are opened, are turned towards the main chance, are 
taught to leer at an earl, languish at a marquis and grow blind 
at sight of a commoner. (Enter Rosa l u e.) I am in earnest 
about this campaign against that rascal Barnes, and hope the 
opportunity will come to humilate the scoundrel. 

Rosa. Papa dear, Clive does not think Barnes is a rascal. 

Clive. (Aside.) My wife appeals to my parent on all oc- 
casions ; it is from him and not . me she seeks counsel ; be it a 
ribbon in her cap, cr any other trifling matter, she takes color 
from his opinion, and, rather than wound him, whom I know is 
guided by the purest and best judgment, I yield my own convic- 
tions. What a slave life, that he has made for me. 

Rosa. How interested you are, papa, in the old newspaper. 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKERS 43 

Col. T. N. Clive is like you, Eosa, (laying paper down) he does 
not care for politics. 

Rosa. He only cares for pictures, papa. He would not drive 
with me in the park yesterday, but spent hours in his room, while 
you were toiling in the city, my poor papa. He spent hours paint- 
ing a horrid beggar, dressed like a monk, seeking alms. And this 
morning was up quite early and was gone ever so long, and only 
got back after the breakfast bell rang. 

Clive. I like to ride horseback in the early morning. 

Rosa. Eide horseback, do you? You came back with your 
hands all over with black paint, and so you come back many times 
from that old studio, as you call it. Yes, you know you do, and 
(tossing up her head, cap and ribbons) get up so early in the 
morning that you fall asleep and leave me alone. Very pleasant 
and polite, aint he, papa? 

Col. T. N. I am up betimes in the morning, for I have letters 
to write and business to attend to. We are all early birds in 
India. 

Rosa. Yes, dear kind papa, that's all right for you, but quite 
different from what he does. (Pouts, puts out a hand and pats the 
colonel's face.) 

Col. T. N. Eosa, if I do not go to Newcome today to attend 
the hustings, we will drive out this afternoon and see your por- 
trait, my dear daughter. 

Clive. The colonel and I are walking on a mine, and that poor 
little wife is perpetually flinging little shells to fire it. Some- 
times I wish it were exploded and I done for. Eosa comes to 
the studio, walks around and admires everything. When she 
looks at what my chums have done she goes into ecstacies, exclaim- 
ing, "How soft. How sweet," recalling some of mother-in-law's 
dreadful expressions, but when she examines my work she's silent 
and never deigns to give it a second look. I hear all the dread- 
full repetitions and shudder when I hear them. 

Rosa. Let mamma alone, she is not quarreling with you now. 
(Pouts.) Clive scarcely ever drives out now. Papa always takes 
me with him. 

Clive. She has such a swell turnout. I am ashamed of it. 

Col. T. N. I don't understand you young men. I don't see 
why you need be ashamed to ride with your wife on the course 
in her own carraige. Come, Clive, it is time for us to be off. 
(Rosa brings the colonel his hat and cane and he kisses her.) 
Good-bye, daughter dear. Don't forget our drive this afternoon. 
(Exit r. Clive gets his own hat.) 



44 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT IV 

Rosa. Now, Mr. Clive, you can go to your old studio and paint, 
and paint your hands all black, come home to dinner and sleep 
all night long and fear no disturbance. (Closes scene.) 



SCENE 2. — Act TV. Plain chamber in hotel at Newcome, r and 
l doors. Col. T. N. discovered drinking cold negus and puff- 
ing at his pipe. Cold room — fires out. Enter Clive with 
lighted candle, both regarding each other. 

Col. T. N. (In trembling voice.) Heaven bless me, my boy, 
how ill you appear! Come and warm yourself — ah, the fire is 
out. Have something else, my boy, that will warm you up. 
(Hands him a glass of negus, which he drinks down.) 

Clive. (With emotion.) You look very ill, too, father. 

Col. T. N. 111? Not I. Such a battered old fellow as I am 
has the right to look the worse for wear. But you, boy, why do 
you look so pale? 

Clive. I have seen a ghost, father. 

Col. T. N. Come, your mind must be wandering, my child. 

Clive. The ghost of my youth, the ghost of my happiness and 
the days of my life. I saw Ethel today; I went to see Sarah Mason 
and she was there. 

Col. T. N. I saw her, but would not speak to her. I thought 
best not to mention her to you, my poor boy. And are — are you 
still fond of her, Clive? 

Clive. Still ! Once means always in these things, father, doesn't 
it ? Once means today, yesterday and forever and ever. 

Col. T. N. Nay, my boy, you mustn't talk to me so, or even 
to yourself so. You have the dearest wife at home, a dear little 
wife and child. 

Clive. You had a son, you have been kind enough to him, as 
heaven knows. You had a wife, but that does not prevent other — 
other thoughts. Do you know, you never twice in your life men- 
tioned my mother ? You didn't care for her. 

Col. T. N. I — I did my duty by her; I denied her nothing. I 
scarcely ever had a word with her, and I did my best to make 
her happy. 

CUve. I know, but your heart was with the other. So is mine. 
It's fatal ; it runs in the family, father. 

Col. T. N. I did my best, Clive. I went to that villain Barnes 
and offered him to settle every shilling I was worth on you, I did. 
You didn't know that. I'd kill myself to serve you, Clive. I can 
live upon a crust and a cigar. I don't care about a carriage, and 



SCENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 45 

only go in it to please Kosa, but the scoundrel played us false ; he 
did and so did Ethel. 

Olive. No, sir. I thought so in my rage once, but know better 
now. She was the victim, not the agent. Did Madam de Florae 
play you false when she married her husband? It was her fate 
and she underwent it. We all submit to it; we are in the- track 
and the car passes over us. You know it does, father. Besides, 
Ethel does not care for me. She received me today quite coldly, 
and held her hand out as if we had only parted last year. I sup- 
pose she has some lingering affection for the marquis who jilted 
her. How can we know what wins the hearts of women? There 
was my fate. Praise be to Allah ! it is over. 

Col. T. N. But there's that villain who injured you. His 
isn't over yet. (Clenches his trembling hand.) 

Clive. Ah, father, let us leave him to Allah, too. Suppose 
Madam de Florae had had a brother who had injured you, you 
know you wouldn't have revenged yourself. You would have 
wounded her in striking him. 

Col. T. N. You challenged Barnes yourself, boy. 

Clive. That was for another cause, and not for my quarrel. 
And how do you know I intended to fire? By jove, I was so mis- 
erable then that an ounce of lead would have done me little harm. 

Col. T. N. Mashallah ! Clive, my boy, what is done is done. 

Clive. Let us break up camp before this place and not go to 
war with Barnes, father. Let us have peace and forgive him if 
we can. 

Col. T. N. And retreat before this scoundrel? 

Clive. What is victory over such a fellow? One gives a chimney 
sweep the wall, father. 

Col. T. N. I say again what is done is done. I have promised 
to meet him at the hustings, and I will. I think it best. And you 
are right, and you counsel me like a high-minded gentleman, as 
you are, dear, dear old boy — not to meddle in the quarrel — though 
I didn't think so. The difference gave me great pain and I'm 
wrong, and thank heaven my own son shed the light that con- 
vinced me of my error. Let us go to bed. (Shake hands and em- 
brace at the entrance to their bed rooms. Exit Clive R D, colonel 
at l d.) 



46 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT IV 

SCENE 3.— Act IV. Tyburnia Mansion of Colonel T. New- 
come, London. Col. T. N. discovered at table l c arranging 
papers relating to the failure of the Bundelcund Banking 
Company.) 

Col. T. N. It is no use. My brain continues in a whirl and 
now, after poring all day over this mass of papers and documents, 
I appear to be where I commenced. I can make neither head nor 
tail of its affairs. It is certain the bank has bu'sted and is unable 
to meet its obligations, and that an effort will be made here in 
London to hold the shareholders responsible for the deficiency, in 
which case I and other shareholders are ruined, for I have in- 
duced many friends to invest their all in the rotten concern, and 
in honor bound feel to make their investments good, even if I 
sacrifice every farthing I can rake and scrape. (Sounds of laugh- 
ter off l.) Ah, the ladies and their invited guests are going up 
stairs to give the baby a parting kiss. I had a glimpse of Mrs. 
Mackenzie superbly arrayed in a brand new toilette never before 
equalled. Ah, here they come down to try and drag me from the 
work before me. 

(Enter l Mrs. Mackenzie, Captain Goby, Clive and Rosa l.) 

nines. Why, colonel, are you not going with us? 

Col. T. N. Ah, to the opera, and the invited guests have all 
come? 

Rosa. Yes, all are ready, and the carriages await us at the door. 
Come, papa dear, it is time we were gone. 

Col. T. N. (Glancing over his work.) I think it best we 
should stay at home. 

Rosa. Papa looks ill, something disturbs him. If you can't 
go with us, Captain G-oby will take your place, and he and mamma 
will be our chaperones. 

Mrs. Mack. Indeed ! Rosa has set her heart on going, and 
would be so sadly disappointed in her present condition. 

Col. T. N. Captain Goby, I regret very much that our going 
will have to be postponed. I have matters of importance to com- 
municate to the family. (Captain Goby exit R.) 

Clive. Has it come, father? 

Col. T. N. (Draws Rosa towards him and kisses her.) Some- 
thing has happened, Rosa dear, which requires all your fortitude 
to bear, my child, for a great misfortune has befallen us. 

Mrs. Mack. Great heaven, colonel ! What is it ? Don't fright- 
en my beloved child. (Rushes to her daughter and encircles her 
in her arms.) What can have occurred ? Don't agitate my darling 
child, sir. 



SCENE III] THE MATCHMAKERS 47 

Col. T. N. The very worst news has come from Calcutta, which 
confirms the apprehensions we expressed some days ago, Clive. 

Clive. It is no news to me, for I have been expecting it to 
occur for some time. 

Mrs. Mack. Expecting what to occur? What have you been 
keeping back from us ? In what have you been deceiving us, Col- 
onel Newcome? (Shrieked out.) 

Rosa. Oh. mamma, mamma. (Whimpered.) 

Col. T. N. The chief of the Bundelcund Bank in India is 
dead. He has left the bank affairs in worse than disorder. I 
fear we are ruined, Mrs. Mackenzie. Its bills may be going to 
pretest in this city this very day. 

Mrs. Mack. (Rises in frantic wrath.) I vow and protest that 
the money which the colonel induced me to put in this bank shall 
not be sacrificed, and I will have it back, bank or no bank, next 
Monday morning. My daughter had a fortune of her own in- 
herited from my dear brother James, which should have been 
equally divided between us and would have been more fairly but 
for the influence of pretended friends. I mean Colonel Newcome. 
If he desires to bear the reputation of the honest man he claims 
to be to account for every shilling of my daughter's fortune, that 
has passed through his hands into this rotten bank. The dear 
little darling sleeping unconsciously upstairs, and the innocent 
brothers and sisters that may follow the first born, may know, 
when they come to know they have rights, who it was that robbed 
and cheated the helpless innocents. I knew that my darling was 
too young to marry when she did, and she never would have mar- 
ried had she listened to me. I demand that the baby and its suc- 
cessors shall be looked to and cared for by its grandmother so 
long as their father's father should be so heartless and wicked as 
to give their money to rogues. 

Rosa. (In tears.) Oh, mamma, mamma. 

Clive. Hold your tongue! (Sharply.) 

Mrs. Mack. (Clutches her daughter to her oreast and turns on 
Clive.) Both father and son are in the conspiracy to defraud our 
descendants of their bread. Yes, I will speak. ISTo power on 
earth shall prevent me, and I will have my money on Monday as 
sure as my poor husband is in his grave. Yes, had Captain Mac- 
kenzie been alive we would never have been cheated, yes, cheated. 

Rosa. (In piping tone jaculates:) Dear darling, ruined and 
cheated baby. 

Col. T. N. This babel of tongues must be silenced, for not 
until then shall we know what has occurred, and what we may 



48 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT IV 

expect to occur. I am liable at any moment to be declared a, bank- 
rupt, all my property, wherever found, will be seized and sold 
for the benefit of creditors of the defunct bank. Eosa and her 
mother must abandon their present quarters and go somewhere 
where they will be safe from annoyance. Clive may accompany 
them and earn their support. For all I know to the contrary, the 
minions of the law may be on our trail, hence it is best to quit 
this house at once. Go pack your trunks. {Door hell rings; much 
confusion and anxiety to avoid the harpies of justice; ladies 
scream.) 
. Mrs. M. Come, Rosa dear, let us go and pack our trunks. 

Col. T. N. Please remember to take nothing but what is your 
own and may be needed. Clive, you will see what is packed up 
and taken away. 

Mrs. Mack. It is my duty and my religion that impels me 
to protect my- defenceless darlings, who are cast upon the streets 
after they have been fleeced and cheated of all they had. If my 
poor dear Mack was alive you would never have dared to do this, 
Colonel ISTeweome. Come, Eosa my love, let us pack your things. 
Let us go and hide our heads in sorrow somewhere. Ah, didn't 
I warn you to beware of all painters? Clarence Hoby was a true 
gentleman and loved you with all his heart and would never have 
flung you out on the world after cheating you out of your money, 
but I will have justice as sure as there is justice in England. 
{Exeunt Clive, Rosa and Mrs. Mack.) 

Col. T. N. I may have done wrong {hangs his head), not in- 
tentionally, but with the aid of an old silly brain. 
{Re-enter Clive, Rosa and Mrs. Mack. CUve and colonel conduct 
ladies to their carriage, exeunt r. Close of scene.) 



SCENE i] THE MATCHMAKERS 49 



ACT V. 

SCENE 1. — Act V. Library, country seat Sir Barnes at New- 
come. Enter Mrs. Laura Pendennis and Ethel Newcome l. 

Ethel. I sent for you, Laura dear, because I had not seen you 
for a long time and because I had much to communicate as to 
the situation of our affairs. I have told you the particulars of 
Lady Clara's elopement, Lord Highgate's assault of my brother, 
the declination of Lord Kew to consummate our engagement on 
the ground that it had no foundation in love and that no happi- 
ness could exist unless cherished by a mutual love, which should 
be the basis of every marriage. 

Laura. The reasoning is indisputable, and the discovery was 
timely. I do not wonder at Lady Clara's elopement, the result 
of cruelty. 

Ethel. My poor grandmother, the Lady Kew, when I ven- 
tured to point out the necessity of mutual love before marriage, 
used to cite the experience of our friends who had made love 
matches, so termed, and now quarrelled fiercely as though they 
had never loved each other; to climax her argument she would 
cite the case of the duchess who was murdered by her lord in 
France. To my mind it was a contradiction of mutual love, for 
no such result could have happened if both loved. I can remem- 
ber the sort of screech with which she clinched her argument on 
the mere assertion that it was a love match. 

Laura. I remember something of reading the circumstances. 

Ethel. The dear old lady was guided in her selections by the 
desire to promote the happiness of her own flesh and blood, actu- 
ated entirely by the love she had for them, though her efforts 
in my behalf would have resulted as unfortunately as all her plans 
did. At that time Lady Kew advocated marriages with or with- 
out love. I readily became a convert to her opinions and availed 
myself of their advocacy as an excuse for my own actions. You 
know I was fond of admiration, rank and display of wealth, all 
of which I was offered by Lord Parintosh, grandmamma's latest 
selection, and became engaged to that nobleman. My earthly 
adviser, having relinquished all her schemes for my establishment 
by the inevitable fiat of death, I took upon myself the duty of 
investigating the character and antecedents of the choice made 
for me, and found myself engaged to marry a frivolous fop, with 
shallow brain, wrapped up in the glaring and selfish conceit of 



50 THE MATCHMAKERS ACT v] 

his own superior importance. I at once concluded there was 
no happiness in view for me in such a union, and the result was 
a letter of declination, which I have already shown you. It was 
no hasty step, for previous to my final decision I talked with him 
daily and fully understood his character, and yet the fool has not 
sense enough to perceive the hopelessness of his suit, hut still 
flutters about me, with his idle prattle and promises. 

Now, Laura dear, I want to show and discuss with you the im- 
portant discovery I have made, which I sincerely hope may ma- 
terially change the misfortunes of my dearly beloved uncle and 
his son. Last evening Madame de Florae talked to us of Orme's 
History of India. When I reached home I took the volumes from 
the bookcases and found this codicil to my grandmother's will. 
(Hands the document to Laura.) I at once recognized Mrs. New- 
come's handwriting; the letter is dated on the very day of her 
death. I have often heard papa speak of her writing on that night. 
Read it and let me know what you think about it. 

Laura. (Reads the document and returns it to Ethel.) It ap- 
pears all right, but I fear your brother Barnes will not make resti- 
tution. 

Ethel. He will fulfill it, I'm sure he will. (In a haughty man- 
ner.) He would do as much without being asked, I am certain 
he would, did he know the depth of my dear uncle's misfortunes. 

Laura. And you will write to him this very day? I know 
what the answer will be. 

Ethel. I will call on him this very day, and then I'll call on 
my dear old uncle. I have found out where to locate him. 

Laura. The document is written in ink, which is somewhat 
faded by age. It is addressed by the handwriting of Mrs. New- 
come to "My dear Mr. Luce." Who was he ? 

Ethel. He was her solicitor, and is my solicitor now. I think 
our luncheon awaits us. Let us go. (Exeunt l. 'Scene closes.) 

SCENE 2'. — r Act V. 'Olive's dwelling, TLowland street, London. 
Plain chamber, doors R and l 4.) 

dive. (At L D.) Up, up, Tommykin, and go walking with 
papa. Put on your cap and tell grandma to dispense with your 
apron. (At mention of "grandma" boy begins to whimper.) There, 
there, my boy, Betsy or your mother will take off the apron. (En- 
ters from L d, flings off his own paint-stained jacket on back of 
a chair and comes out of left chamber with a frock coat, much 
worn, which he brushes and puts on and goes into room for a 






SCENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 51 

slouch hat. Enter Rosa l d, supported by Clive to a sofa, u c, on 
which she languishes.) 

Clive. I am not the dandy I used to be, and have to perform 
more chores than I ever did. (Dress boy.) Most of the domestic 
duties fall to my lot now, as my little wife is too ill to give them 
attention, and mother-in-law has all she can do to discharge her 
duties as general manager of the premises. Is there anything I 
can do for you, dear, before I go. (To Rosa. Boy runs out of 
room to e door, pulls it open and slams it shut as hard as he can. 
Clive pursues, catches the boy and boxes his ears. Mrs. Mack comes 

to L D.) 

Mrs. Mack. Do sir, do, with your wife, my darling child, lying 
on that settee at the point of death. Behave like a brute that 
you are, and you will soon send us all to an early grave. The boy 
shall not have his cap or go out walking in cold and damp weather. 

Clive. He shall do as I say ! 

E niter Mrs. Mack l d, clad in large, loose dingy wrapper and 
white cotton nightcap. 

Mrs. Mack. You'll not have your way, sir. 

Clive. I am master here and not you. (Runs at Mrs. Mack, 
snatches, the cap from her grasp, picks up the child and with boy 
on his shoulder makes hasty exit r d. Mrs. Mack screams, follows 
him to R door.) 

Mrs. Mack. Come back, sir, with that child. You know he is 
delicate. (Turns back.) Keep on, sir, and your invalided wife 
will soon be at rest in her grave. 

Rosa. Oh, Clive ; Oh, mamma, mamma. (Enter r d Clive, child 
and Col. N. Mrs. Mack, finding herself in disarray, retires to 
room l d.) 

Clive. We met father a short distance from here, and the boy 
clung to his grandfather. There appears to be somebody at the 
front door. I'll go down and see who it is. (Enter Ethel r d on 
the arm of Clive. Boy runs to meet them and returns to colonel.) 

Col. T. D. Who is it, boy, do you know? 

Boy. Miss Ethel and papa. 

Col. T. N. It is Ethel, my dear niece, to whom I refused to 
speak. I used to love her very much when she was a little girl 
about your size, and she is a very good beautiful child. (Pats boy 
on the head.) A very good child. 

Clive. I have brought an old friend, father, to see you. (Lays 
hand on his shoulder.) 



52 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT V 

Ethel. It is I, dear uncle. (Kneels, flings her arms around 
the colonel and kisses him. Rosa on her sofa clutching tabled Ak 
excitedly.) 

Rosa stares, at group with ghastly smile. Mrs. Mack contemptu- 
ously surveys the lady, endeavors to take one of the hands of 
Rosa, who repels her and puts both hands to her fa^e and 
weeps copiously. The boy picks up the ring thai has 
dropped from her finger and restores it to his 
mother, who clasps her boy affectionately 
and sobs hysterically. 

Mrs. Mack. (With grim smile.) Miss Newcome, is it? Kosa 
dear, get on your shawl. 

Ethel. (With instinctive knowledge of the situation, goes to 
comfort her.) Eosa, dear Eosa, let a sympathetic sister administer 
to your sorrows. How distinctly I remember an uncle's tender- 
ness when I was a child, and who cheered my childish heart with 
gladness. You still have a loving husband, and be assured of his 
tenderness and all the earthly happiness he brings, and all that 
mortal can bestow in the hour of distress, which with undoubted 
affections of your beautiful face must dispel the gloom of your 
surroundings. Cheer up, dear girl, and thank heaven for its 
many blessings. Let me embrace you, dear sister, and be sure 
that both you and your child will receive a hearty welcome when 
you honor me with a visit. I shall come and see you tomorrow, 
my dear uncle, may I not? I saw your room this morning, sir, 
and your black gown, and you shall put it on tomorrow and walk 
with me and show me the beautiful old buildings and the tomb 
of their founder. And shall I come and make tea? The good 
old lady in charge said that I may. I wish to have a conference 
with Cousin Clive for a few minutes, and now say to you all, good- 
bye with wishes for a happy Christmas. 

Mrs. Macjc. You may go, Eosa, to see this Miss Newcome, 
whom people respect because she is rich, but I shall never, no never ; 
the insolent, purse-proud thing! Does she take me for a house- ' 
maid? Am I dust, to be trampled under her feet? Am I a dog, 
that she won't throw me a word. (Exeunt all except Rosa and 
Clive.) 

Ethel. Now, Clive, I wish to explain everything. I found a 
codicil to the will of your grandmother, which our family recognizes 
as legal and binding. It was written the night she died and be- 
queaths to you the sum of six thousand pounds, besides a sum to 
your father. In addition to which you will please draw on me 



SCENE II] THE MATCHMAKERS 53 

for the amount of uncle's indebtedness on account of the Bundel- 
cund bank. Do not ask any further questions now, but make 
settlement in full for all claims against you both. Here are the 
accompanying documents, and will enlighten you better than I 
can. (Agitated.) I can say no more. Farewell, my dear brother, 
and may you be forever happy. (Exit n hurriedly to conceal emo- 
tion.) 

Olive. (Glancing over papers.) A most generous girl. I am 
satisfied she has divided her fortune with us and that the New- 
come family has made no restitution. (Calling off left.) Father, 
you need not return to Greyffairs, henceforth your home will be 
with me. All our obligations will be settled tomorrow. Do you 
hear? All our debts will be paid. 

Col. T. N. Yes, yes, Mrs. Mackenzie's claims should be paid 
first — that is, as soon as we have the means to make payment, 
but under all circumstances I must go back to Greyfriars tonight 
to answer to my name when it is called. It must always be my 
home, for it is the only place where I found refuge from sorrows 
and regrets. Besides, I expect a lady visitor tomorrow who will 
make tea for me. 

Re-enter Mrs. Mack l. 

Mrs. Mack. Now, Mr. Olive, I know where you went today to 
find your father. It was to an almshouse. 

Clive. (Aside.) The madam has caught on to a fact. (Mut- 
ters in French.) 

Mrs. Mack. Pray speak in your own language, sir 4 unless it 
is something not fit for ladies to hear. It is bad manners to mut- 
ter in company, which can be neither heard nor understood. Ad- 
mit, sir, at once (Extends an arm over Rosa.) that Colonel New- 
come has acknowledged he is a pauper in a hospital. He (point- 
ing to colonel), who has squandered his own money, as well as 
mine ; he who has defrauded that darling, helpless child. 

Rosa. Oh, mamma, mamma, how unhappy you make us all. 
(Crying.) 

Mrs. Mack. Compose yourself, darling. I am here, your only 
protector, my child. I say he has completed the disgrace of his 
family by mean, unworthy and degraded conduct. Oh, my child, 
my blessed child, to think that your husband's father should throw 
himself on the bounty and charity of the workhouse to the dis- 
grace of us all. (Shrieks and hursts into an agony.) 

Clive. (Hand beating his forehead in impotent rage.) Madam, 
payment will be made to you and Eosa tomorrow of all you claim 



54 THE MATCHMAKERS [ACT V 

to have lost through my father, and then you and I part, I hope 
forever. (Mrs. Mack exits ~l, colonel hangs his head in utter de- 
jection. Enter servant l.) 

Servant. If you please, sir, Mrs. Mackenzie desires to know 
how long you intend to keep the Christmas dinner waiting. (Ex- 
eunt l. Scene closes.) 



SCENE 3. — Act V. Greyfriars hospital. Exterior drop for back- 
ground showing building with illuminated windows. A set 
chapel at 3 or 4 r. . Procession starts from l tt e composed 
of monks of the Cistercean Order in cassock and girdles, fol- 
lowed by mendicants and inmates of the hospital clad in black 
gowns, then children attending the school conducted at the 
hospital in white surplice, in double file, and proceed down 
left side of stage to front, file to right across front to right, 
halt and face front. Monitor steps to the front and calls roll. 
After all have answered their names attention is. called and 
procession moves by file right along right side of stage and 
enters set chapel, where services are supposed to be held. The 
organ should furnish voluntaries for the march of the proces- 
sion. While the procession is. in front of stage enter Colonel 
Thomas Newcome, exhausted and staggering, and is assisted 
to his place in the ranks while the halt is made, and when 
his name is reached, responds. 

Monitor. Thomas Newcome. 

Col. T. N. "Adzem." (And continues with procession until 
after its entry to the set chapel.') 

TABLEAU VIVANT. — Shadowing a forthcoming event. Ethel 
as a bride before the altar and Clive as. the groom. Priest 
in attitude of pronouncing the benediction. (To be arranged 
in such part of the stage as may be most convenient.) Cur- 
tain. End of play. 



NOTE. — The chief object of the writer in transforming the 
novel of the "Newconies" into dramatic form, was to intensify 
the lessons of the famous author, by showing the conditions and 
requirements necessary to attain true happiness in married life. 
A mutual love of sufficient strength to bring couples together is 
an absolute requirement or basis of the association ; the pleasure 
derived from each other's company, keeps alive the flame of love, 
and leads to an exchange of vows, but it is only when the union 
is crowned with maternity, the realization of wedlock joys are 
attained and the marriage is consecrated by Heaven. Mr. 
Thackeray probably obtained the knowledge by experience, 
under the sobriquet of Arthur Pendennis. 



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